I'll Change For You
by Lupa Eira
Summary: What would have happened if Erik hadn't left Christine after their night of passion? With a pregnant Christine, a slowly-starting-to-heal Erik, and an out-for-revenge Raoul, things get pretty complicated, pretty fast. Rated T because I'm paranoid. Erik (Phantom) X Christine. This is my first fanfic!
1. Chapter 1

**Basically, this is a story that was born from the question:**

**What if Erik didn't leave Christine that moonless night? Note that this is NOT a oneshot. Raoul is plotting revenge, thinking that Erik must have stolen Christine away—not to mention Erik is still a wanted murderer, and more than one pretty-boy is out for his blood. Erik (Phantom) X Christine.**

**Enjoy, rate and review! This is my first fanfic but not my first story, so don't be afraid to give me somewhat harsh constructive criticism.**

Chapter One

Erik gazed at Christine while she slept, though her form was indistinct in the dark, struggling with the two most powerful instincts he had—his love for Christine, so powerful that he was willing to kill and destroy to be with her, and his desire to keep his face hidden. He kept trying to convince himself, to dislodge the single word from his throat—_goodbye_. He was a monster, he didn't deserve Christine, and it was better to keep this single perfect memory than to make Christine suffer, and have the pain of her leaving him again as she certainly would…

Something made him stop.

A single thought.

_What if she wants to stay?_

Before he could even begin to comprehend that profound thought, Christine's form shifted slightly in the dark.

"Erik…?" she whispered. His heart filled up with love at the sound of her voice. Even without singing, her voice was melodious, beautiful. Not hesitating, Erik went to her side and grasped her hand, pressing his lips to it but not kissing it.

"I'm here, my angel." Christine's teeth shone slightly in the dark as he saw her smile. Erik's heart fluttered in his chest—she was _glad_ he was there. The next second, he reprimanded himself—there was no way she could be glad to be around him, not really.

"Thank goodness. I was so frightened you would leave. You have a tendency to run away or…get rid of…your problems." Christine sat up and pressed her head underneath Erik's chin, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. "Besides, I need my angel here to protect me."

"Christine…" Erik whispered, stroking her curls. He felt her shudder excitedly when his hands touched her neck, lightly as butterfly wings. "Christine, my angel, why did you come here tonight?" He felt Christine tense, then relax. He could picture her expression exactly—eyes closed, a small smile on her lips. Trusting him. Remarkable, and, he had believed, impossible.

"I couldn't live with my choice. Raoul is rich and handsome, and he has the whole world to choose from. For you, there's only me. And I've come to realize…for me, there's only you, my angel." The brightening starlight illuminated Christine's face just enough for Erik to see her glowing face as she pulled back from him and laughed just a little. "You see, Erik, you've killed in my name, you've frightened me half to death, but I believe in you. I know you can change. And that's why I'm not going to leave." She reached her hand out and touched the deformed side of Erik's face, and tears slipped from his eyes.

"But…I'm a monster, Christine. How could you live with a monster? The police are bound to come after me soon, and as for your viscount, he's bound to think I stole you away." Christine just kept smiling, though this time a little ruefully.

"That's another thing about Raoul, he never really thought I had a truly independent bone in my body. We have each other, my love. That's all that matters."

_We have each other, my love_.

Erik couldn't believe those words, they were too good to be real. Tears kept slipping down his face, faster and faster until he couldn't control them, curling his head onto Christine's shoulder. She held him, whispering, "Cry, Erik. You've needed to for a long, long time." The man sobbed, remembering so many horrible things—things he had done, things other people had done to him, and mourning every single wickedness bound up inside his soul. _I'll change for you, my Christine. I'll change for you._

Something inside Erik, some hardened concentration of evil, was finally starting to break apart. Christine was saving him.

And unbeknownst to either of them, a life was even then starting to take shape in Christine—a life so precious, all the more precious because it was born out of both love and music. But for now, that moonless night simply was a night to say what was never dared said, for no one was there to pronounce judgment on their words or love.

* * *

Raoul paced up and down the foyer of the villa. Christine was nowhere to be found, and that demon from the opera hadn't been picked up by the police yet. The entire Chagny household was in a panic over the viscount's fiancée, and wondering where in the world she could be.

Not Raoul. He knew what had happened. The demon still hadn't taken no for an answer, and had stolen Christine even now.

And he was going to get revenge for it.

* * *

**I know it's not written very well, I basically wrote this in thirty minutes, maybe a little more, but I'd still like constructive criticism for editing and revising so I can continue it. Thanks! Rate and review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yay, two follows and a review! I'm just going to keep writing and hope more people will start to like this. Considering I originally posted this only a little while ago, I'm pretty optimistic!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Love Never Dies_ or any of the characters thereof except possible OCs further down the line. Andrew Lloyd Webber and Leroux pretty much own everything else.**

**Note: Thanks to judybear236, I've made some changes since he/she pointed out that some of what I originally had didn't really make sense. My fault for rushing into it, I guess. Thanks judybear! And thank you so much to everyone that reviewed!**

Chapter Two

Erik lay next to Christine, still in that realm between sleeping and waking. His whole chest was filled with an emotion that at first he couldn't quite place, an emotion that made his whole body quiver. Then the Phantom woke fully with the realization—it was bliss. Erik opened his eyes, and daylight illuminated Christine beside him. He had never seen her in a natural light outside the opera house, and it took his breath away. This beautiful, perfect creature—she was _his_. And he was hers. It was still something he hardly believed.

The Phantom got up, careful not to disturb his sleeping angel, wrapping a robe around himself and going straight to his staff paper. His hands hummed with excitement and energy, there was so much music that had burst into being from this one night. There was an aria watching her sleep, a series of symphonies for the entire night, rising and falling, from fortissimo to pianissimo in a matter of an instant…he couldn't imagine what it would be like during the rest of their lives together. It was an entirely endless operatic series just to think about. Caught by the sheer beauty of the music flowering inside his head, Erik just sat back and listened. So lost was he in the music that he did not hear his angel come behind him. Wrapped in another of Erik's robes, her heart started pounding at the sight of him—partly from the memory of her fears, partly from her current love, and partly in wondering what was going to happen next. For now at least, she was determined to live in the present.

\ "Hello, Erik," she said, wrapping her arms around his chest. "Are you writing?"

"I'm trying to, my angel, but I'm finding myself…overwhelmed." Usually he wasn't so upfront and honest with her. It made him feel…more normal.

"And why is that?" she asked playfully. At that, Erik's lips twitched up in an involuntary smile.

"I think you know," he said equally coyly, turning around and pulling a surprised Christine onto his lap. "Shall we try to find something I can focus on?" Christine saw that he had put his mask back on, and his wig, now that it was light. She reached her hand out to remove it, and saw Erik's face contort. She stopped, and he relaxed a little.

"You don't have to right now, love. But someday I hope you trust me enough." In her mind's eye, Christine envisioned a long, long road, never ending, down which Erik would try to heal.

_I will change for you. _The thought once more occurred to Erik. _Why not start with this mask, just for you?_

Erik pulled off his mask and wig himself, pressed his lips against those of his angel. Instead of recoiling, as he half-expected, Christine gently pressed her hand against the deformed side of his face, careful not to apply too much pressure. Her lips, on the other hand, were pressed against his with passion and fire. She pulled back, her face no more than three inches from his.

"_Past the point of no return,_

_The final threshold—"_

"_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn_," Erik joined her, singing softly but passionately, sweeping Christine up in a bridal carry and standing.

"_We've passed the point of no return…"_

* * *

That night, Erik and Christine slipped out of his hiding place and stole through the streets of Paris towards Madame Giry's apartment given to her by her sister after the opera's collapse. Erik was wearing a hat and bandages instead of his usual mask. Evidently Giry had been bringing Erik food and information since he had disappeared from the opera.

"But Erik, why are we going?" Christine asked as they walked, whispering.

"It's not safe for you to stay with me. The police and now the Chagny private detectives are after me. Madame Giry and Meg are planning on leaving the country, and you can go with them." Erik said all of this quickly, leading the way with his long, fast stride, not looking back at Christine.

"What about you? You have to get out of here more than the rest of us!" Christine hissed. Without warning, Erik turned around, sweeping them both into a side alley, pressing Christine up against the wall. His hands gripped her shoulders so tightly she almost cried out in pain. Memories of his abuse that last night in the opera welled up inside her. Close to panicking, she forced herself to remain calm and simply let Erik have his word. Now was not the time to fight back against the evil in him.

"I can't endanger any of you that way," Erik said angrily. "If you're found, you'll be tried as accomplices. I'll die if I'm caught. _You'll_ die if you're caught with me." The Phantom hung his head, shaking. "If you were to die on account of my actions, I'd never forgive myself." His grip loosened, and Christine touched Erik's chin, forcing him to look at her.

"If I leave you to save myself, and you died, how do you think I would feel?" As Erik dropped his arms, confusion spreading itself across his features, Christine continued, "This isn't the opera anymore, Erik. You can't decide our fates so completely out here. I'm not one of your singers anymore, Meg isn't one of your dancers, and Madame Giry isn't your subordinate. You have to trust us." Christine smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I know what I'm doing. Madame Giry probably knows better than all of us." She looked him in the eye almost condescendingly. "I just came back to you, Erik, entirely of my own accord. I'm not going to leave you again." Planting a light kiss on his lips, Christine took his hand and led the way out of the alley.

Madame Giry's apartment was only a few minutes from where they were, and there was a back entrance which Erik and Christine utilized.

"She's not expecting me," Erik said, "But I guarantee she's prepared nonetheless." With that, he knocked twice, then four times, then three times. Madame Giry opened the door, embracing Erik and talking rapidly.

"We thought you might drop by, we've thought of a few plans but we'd like to discuss them with you—" She stopped in shock when she noticed Christine behind the Phantom. "Christine, what are you doing here, child?"

"She's with me," Erik said brusquely.

"Are the viscount's accusations true, then?" she retorted harshly, ushering them inside as quickly as possible and shutting the door. "Meg met him at the market, apparently he thinks you've kidnapped Christine from the Chagny villa."

"Kidnapped her?" Erik said angrily. "Be logical, Antoinette, she would have had an opportunity to escape on the way here if that were really the case—"

"I'm here of my own accord, Madame Giry," Christine interjected. "I'm coming with you all, wherever you're going."

"What about Raoul?" Madame Giry asked suspiciously. Christine swallowed, a lump in her throat.

"He…he wanted me to stop singing. And he wanted to kill Erik. And…something happened. I'd rather not talk about it." Erik was looking at her in concern, a rage starting to boil in his stomach at the mention of whatever the pretty-boy viscount must have done…

"Very well," Madame Giry said reluctantly. "Come into the kitchen and I'll make you something to eat, both of you." As the two headed to the kitchen, the ballet instructor took one last look outside at the night and quickly drew the curtains over the window.


	3. Chapter 3

**I feel awesome right now. Seriously. I UPLOADED SOMETHING TO THIS WEBSITE AND PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY READING IT. THIS. IS. SO. EPIC.**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own _Love Never Dies_, however much I wish I do. That right belongs to Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber. Leroux owns the rest, pretty much. I do however own the OCs, which at the moment only include the private detectives. Enjoy, rate, and review (and thanks to those who have reviewed so far)! **

Chapter Three

"We found an apartment that looked as though it had been recently abandoned, Viscount, but we haven't been able to track the Opera Ghost's whereabouts from there," one of the private detectives said, twirling a hat nervously in his hand. His mustache twitched as he frowned.

"Are there any signs of a woman having stayed at the apartment?" Raoul demanded impatiently, a glass of beer in his hand and pacing in front of the detectives.

"No sir," another man, tall and thin with round glasses, said. "We thoroughly checked the premises. The only thing we found there that could possibly belong to a woman was a scarf, and no lady of your fiancée's status would own this scarf, so we dismissed it."

Raoul froze.

"A scarf?" he said slowly. "May I see it?"

"Certainly, sir," one of the men said cautiously, handing over the thing—it was worn, frayed at the edges, and faded red. At the sight of it, Raoul's face tuned white, then red, then purple, and in a rage he flung down the scarf and screamed, "You _fools_! That's _her scarf_, the one I dove into the ocean to save when we were children! You _utter imbeciles_! That hell-spawned demon has stolen my fiancée! _Go now_ and _find her_ or I'll have all your heads and your jobs!" Alarmed, and muttering both entreaties and apologies, the men scrambled out the door. The tall man dropped his glasses, grabbing them as he tripped over another man's foot. When they were gone, Raoul gripped his glass in his hand so tightly his knuckles were white.

"How dare that _creature_ steal away my Christine," de Chagny spat, succumbing to a fit of temper and hurling the glass against the wall. The drunken vehemence in his entire attitude was frightening. Drink, it seemed, made Raoul crueler. No matter how he appeared to be a gallant prince in public, it was just that—an appearance, masking a cruel, spoiled child with the power and intelligence of an adult. For now, the de Chagny raged about his villa, harming no one but himself and his possessions, but soon he would be sober enough to take real revenge. He'd be damned if that demon stole his Christine from right under his nose, and he knew exactly where to start looking for them.

* * *

Christine didn't have any dreams that night. She had nightmares. They were indistinct and memory-based—the body of the poor crew member Erik hanged from above the stage, her father dying…and Raoul…

Right then, something shook her awake. Christine woke in a cold sweat, gasping for air. It was still the middle of the night, and Erik was kneeling by her, attention solely on her. Of course he had heard her. Despite that he was supposed to be sleeping on the floor in Giry's living room (Giry had insisted and Erik had complied, since he had slept on far worse) and Christine was sleeping in the spare bedroom, it was no surprise that Erik had migrated to the floor in Christine's room as soon as everyone was asleep.

Impulsively, Christine leaned forward and pulled the Phantom into an embrace, shaking uncontrollably and trying her best not to cry, though nothing could conceal her pounding heart.

"What happened?" Erik whispered, rocking her gently and stroking her hair, just like her father used to when she'd had a bad dream. Christine wasn't sure how he knew what to do, but she supposed that Erik had had plenty of nightmares himself in his time.

"Just bad memories," the young woman said into his chest, shutting her eyes, letting her angel protect her. She was trembling like a leaf in a gust. Though she didn't see it, Erik's eyes narrowed.

"You said the viscount's name. And it was clearly part of your nightmare, my angel, because it was right before you woke up," he said. It wasn't phrased as a question, but it was obviously meant as one. Christine tensed.

"Erik, I don't want to talk about it." She didn't notice it, but her trembling intensified. Erik, however, did, and his expression continued to darken. The Phantom sighed and kissed her forehead, continuing to sway back and forth in a comforting rhythm.

"You've never kept anything from me before, not really," he observed, wanting to draw out the source of his angel's pain and then brutally murder it.

"This isn't something I want you to help me with," Christine said surprisingly firmly. "It's in the past and I'm never going back." She sighed, then pulled back from the embrace. "I think I can go back to sleep now." Erik complied, but instead of lying back down on the floor, he settled onto the other side of the bed, making sure that nothing and no one would harm his angel. He watched her breathing. Christine's eyes were shut, but Erik knew she wasn't asleep. All she had done just now was cut off the conversation—nothing had been solved.

He sighed and began stroking her hair, singing softly:

"_Amazing grace,_

_ How sweet the sound_

_ That saved a wretch like me:_

_ I once was lost_

_ But now am found_

_ Was blind _

_ But now I see._" Despite that she was supposed to be asleep, Christine couldn't help interrupting and singing the second verse:

"_'twas Grace that taught my heart to fear_

_ And Grace my fears relieved_

_ How precious did_

_ That Grace appear_

_ The hour I first believed_." Erik gazed at Christine, who gazed back at him in confusion, no longer pretending to sleep.

"If I'm going to trust you, Christine, you need to trust me too," he said sadly. "I know you're afraid I'm going to kill the viscount if I find out whatever he did to you, and believe me, it's very tempting, but I am tired of killing. I'll wait for you to tell me, my angel, but I would like to know soon."

Tears, grateful ones, gathered in Christine's eyes and caused a lump to form in her throat when she heard him say that. A few months ago or even a few days ago, Erik would never have said "I am tired of killing". Nor would he have waited for her consent to know something. He _was_ starting to change. There _was_ hope.

Madame Giry found them the next morning asleep, Christine cradled in the Phantom's arms, his head leaning over hers protectively. Being the former ballet instructor at the opera, it had been an everyday part her job to wake up people who had wanted to keep sleeping—nevertheless, she watched them breathe together for a moment before she unceremoniously shook them both awake, not bothering to comment on the change of sleeping arrangements.

"Food is ready once you two get up," she said pointedly. "Meg wants to see you, Christine. Erik, I need to talk with you. Now would be preferable." Christine, eyes cast downward and face red, muttered "Yes, Madame" and quickly left the room, glancing back at Erik as she went with a rueful smile. Wasting no time, Giry got straight to the point.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed, having no qualms about reprimanding Erik. "Even if she's telling the truth, what do you think would happen if you were caught? Raoul would kill you and his pretty fiancée would probably be spared. She doesn't have nearly as much to risk as the rest of us, which could put us all in danger. Not to mention at the rate you seem to be going, she could get pregnant! Did you ever think for a moment what that could mean for getting out of the country?"

"Oh, and my deformed face won't slow us down? Giry—"

"Don't you dare talk back to me, Erik, I'm still older than you and at this point I might as well be your mother," she growled. "She will be our ruin, mark my words."

Just then, the sound of the doorbell caused them both to jump.

"Who could that be?" Giry muttered. "Erik, stay here. I'll get Christine back here." That turned out to be unnecessary when Christine bolted into the room, closing the door, her eyes wide with an unidentifiable emotion.

"It's Raoul," she said breathlessly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Love Never Dies_ or any of the characters included (except the private detectives and other possible OCs). Although I wish I owned Erik, but who doesn't? XD**

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, I'm glad you're enjoying it! And double thanks to judybear236 again for catching my grammatical errors. Arigatou gozaimasu! Enjoy, rate, and review!**

Chapter Four

Raoul stood in front of the Giry's apartment door, knocked, and waited. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Madame Giry would at least know where the demon was, and if not, she might even be hiding him. As a precaution for his family back at the villa, he had even hired a carriage instead of taking his family one. After a few seconds, Giry opened the apartment door, and Raoul put on his best gentlemanly air.

"Madame Giry," he said, removing his hat.

"Raoul," the older woman answered, face devoid of expression.

"May I come in?"

"For what purpose?"

"I was wondering if you knew anything about the Opera Ghost's whereabouts."

"I was under the impression your private detectives were searching for him."

"Yes, but they're all incompetent fools. And I'm certain you know where that demon Phantom is lurking, Madame Giry, so don't try to tell me otherwise."

"Come now, Viscount, let's not speak unkindly," Giry chided. Did Raoul imagine it, or did a condescending smirk flit across her face? "Come inside, Viscount, and you'll find I have nothing to hide," Madame Giry said with a smile. As he walked in, he was greeted by a woman with chocolate brown curls—his fiancée.

"Raoul!" Christine said with a huge smile on her face, walking in from the kitchen to give the viscount an embrace. "Didn't I tell you I was coming here? Meg offered to do my hair for the wedding, and since Meg did _wonders_ with the ballet girls' hair for performances I simply _had_ to accept!" Raoul frowned in confusion. Was the demon really not involved in this after all? If so, then why had Christine's scarf been found at his apartment?

"But the wedding is in seven hours, and we already have a hairdresser scheduled for you. And why didn't you tell me you were coming here? That demon from the opera house is still on the loose, you shouldn't be out and about until he's caught once and for all."

"Raoul, darling, if men can have bachelor's parties, surely I can have a night with friends before my wedding? Besides, I _did_ tell one or two of your servants, although I can't seem to remember their names at the moment—"

"Fine, fine," Raoul snarled. Just for a second, Christine's façade faltered and fear flashed across her face. "Christine, you're coming with me. Miss Giry shall apparently have to come as well." With a scowl, Raoul strode out the door. Christine and Meg followed suit, but Christine glanced back and mouthed _we'll be back._

Raoul fumed silently throughout the entire carriage ride. Meg occasionally made an attempt at conversation, but it quickly petered out each time. Though Christine's acting was brilliant—leaning against Raoul's shoulder, smiling at him constantly, holding his hand—her other hand was holding the side of her skirts as tightly as if it was a lifeline.

_Erik_, she screamed inside her head, _please come save me._ So much had changed since that last night at the opera, and so much hadn't changed at all.

As if one cue, the carriage stopped, though they weren't nearly to the de Chagny villa.

"What the devil…?" Raoul muttered, opening the door of the carriage and walking outside. The road was rural, and no one else was anywhere around. Christine and Meg climbed out with him, looking around and both hoping the same thing—that Erik might have come. Then again, it was broad daylight, so that was unlikely.

"What in the world?" Raoul said in irritation. Christine and Meg looked over his shoulder—it appeared that their carriage driver had climbed off and walked off into the nearby field, evidenced by his boot-prints in the mud. The man was nowhere to be seen. Raoul let out a noise something like a small child being told that they must attend a boring dinner party full of adults. "I'll go look for him, and if I can't find him, the villa is only a twenty-minute walk from here," Raoul said in displeasure. "You two stay here inside the carriage and make certain no one sees you." The viscount angrily began stomping away through the field. As soon as he was out of sight over a small rise, a man appeared from behind the carriage. He clearly was not European, and neither Meg nor Christine knew him.

"We should return to Paris at once, my dears. Erik and Madame Giry are waiting for us. They're going to meet us at the docks, and we'll catch a ship out of here as soon as possible," the man said in a thick, unidentifiable accent.

"Who are you?" Meg asked guardedly.

"My name is Nadir Khan, and I've helped Erik several times before. Perhaps he mentioned me to you, Miss Daaé?" Christine relaxed—yes, Erik had told her about the Persian several times before, and had mentioned that he had been in contact with the man since his escape from the opera. Nadir chuckled a little. "You didn't think that Erik would let the viscount take you away without making certain you had some form of security, did you?"

"But how did Erik tell you where we were?" Meg asked, still wary.

"I've been guarding your apartment since Erik and Christine arrived yesterday. He wouldn't be able to defend three women by himself, so he asked me to stay at a safe distance. I've been your carriage driver, and this looked like a good place to stop. It was quite a simple plan, really—use the mud to make it look like I walked away, and then just hop over it and go behind the carriage as quickly as possible." He opened the door of the carriage for them graciously. "Shall we return to Paris, ladies?"

"Of course," Christine said, smiling. "Thank you, Mr. Khan."

"No need for thanks, Miss Daaé," the man said. "I owe Erik a great deal. He's been a very good friend to me. The least I can do is watch over the people he cares about." The two ladies entered the carriage and they began the trip back to Paris.

* * *

Erik anxiously paced inside a warehouse at the docks. Madame Giry watched him in amused exasperation.

"This friend of yours said he'd be here, so he'll be here. You pick your friends wisely."

"Yes, but Christine clearly doesn't have good taste in fiancées," Erik snarled. He stopped pacing. "I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't," Madame Giry said, laying a hand on Erik's shoulder. "That in itself is a strange thing, but I know it's true. I'm worried for both of them too. Perhaps even more so than you."

"Yes, but—" Erik stopped and listened intently. "Are those carriage wheels?" The Phantom rushed to the window, careful to be at an angle out of sight from the outside, and sighed in relief. "It's Nadir."

"Thank heaven," Giry said in a tone that made Erik realize she had been a lot more worried than she had let on. The two watched Meg, Christine, and Nadir walk to the door and open it. Within a second, Erik had his arms wrapped around his angel protectively. Christine smiled and hugged him back.

"It's all right."

"I can't believe you risked yourself like that," Erik said, finding it hard to keep the anger out of his voice.

"I had to do something or he would have found you," Christine said. "The choice was obvious."

"She's right, Erik," Nadir said. Erik looked up, noticing Khan for the first time.

"Thank you, Nadir."

"My pleasure."

"I knew you would find some way to get me back," Christine whispered. It was something for Erik's ears only. "That's why I knew it was all right." Having heard nothing, Meg spoke up.

"So what do we do from here?"

"We're going to catch a freighter to America," Madame Giry said. "I've set it all up already. It's going to be very roundabout, the trip should take a few weeks. And once we get to America, we're going to try and make ourselves a living." Christine and Meg looked uncertain, but Erik smiled—a real smile, one that Christine had never seen him wear.

"Well, I suppose all that traveling around is finally going to pay off," he said. "And you, my dear Christine, are going to be the greatest singer America has ever seen." Erik's brilliant mind was already composing arias and operas beyond anything the Opera Populaire had ever seen, all for his Christine…

* * *

His Christine was _gone again_!

_Taken_ by that _demon_ from hell!

At the Giry's, perhaps she had somehow managed to escape for a moment, but then he had stolen her back again…

Raoul would stop at nothing to take back Christine and make certain the Phantom would become a Ghost once and for all. He would follow the trail of clues himself.

Raoul left his villa for Paris, using his first clue—Madame Giry's apartment. When he arrived, he found what he was looking for as soon as he walked into Madame Giry's bedroom—the address for the shipping yard, along with the name of the exact freighter they were scheduled to be on, located on a strip of paper in the fireplace that hadn't quite been burned to ash.

Raoul now had a plan. All he needed was a little time to carry it out.

* * *

**Yeah, I know. Suspense and stuff. Don't worry, there's a lot of chapters to go. If any of you feel like this chapter was inadequate, however, please tell me! In the meantime, I'll be working on the next installment. *waves***


	5. Chapter 5

**I wasn't sure where to go with this exactly (I had a vague idea about where I wanted the story to go, but wasn't sure about the next chapter specifically) but luckily your fabulous reviews inspired me :D Thanks guys! Thanks especially to judybear236 as always for catching mistakes, though I'm pleased I'm making fewer and fewer.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies. Andrew Lloyd Webber does, right guys?**

**Erik: And thank goodness for that, or I never would have been reunited with my Christine.**

**Me: Uh…you do realize that she dies in the end of the musical, right?**

**Erik: *raises Punjab lasso***

**Me: *runs* I'M JUST A HUMBLE AUTHOR AND FANGIRL!**

**Raoul: Well, I personally despise the musical. What happened to my gallant prince character who saved Christine from a total madman?**

***Erik and I glance at each other***

**Me: I don't think I'll be able to kill him off this chapter.**

**Erik: Who said anything about the chapter? I'm going to kill him right now!**

**Me: *disappears in puff of purple smoke, banishing both characters to various parts of the story***

**Note: This chapter contains descriptions of violence, so if you're somewhat fainthearted you may not want to read it.**

Chapter Five

"So," Meg said to Christine, settling in a chair in the cabin all three of the women were sharing, "How are you, Christine?"

It was such a ridiculously ordinary question that Christine couldn't help laughing.

"Aside from the fact that we're on a freighter ship on the way to America with no money, no assets, and no idea how we're going to support ourselves when we get there?"

"Well, yes, aside from that," Meg laughed.

"I feel…excited, actually. It's like I'm finally moving on to the next stage in my life."

"You didn't feel that way when you were with Raoul?" Meg asked cautiously, watching Christine for signs of nervousness. After a moment of silence, Christine answered.

"No, I didn't," Christine sighed. "Like I told your mother, he wanted me to stop singing."

"You also said that something happened," Meg said. Before Christine put up any mental shields, she quickly added, "I know you don't want to talk about it, but we're going to be stuck on this ship for a while. It'll be hard to keep a secret in such close quarters for so long. I think it'll be better if you get it off your chest now." Christine looked at her friend with a newfound respect.

"When did you become so wise?" she teased. Meg laughed.

"I'm not sure I'd really call it wisdom, just practicality. When you've got a mother like mine, it tends to rub off on you. Besides," she added in a more serious tone, "If the secret comes out in a bad way, there's nowhere to run unless you jump over the side."

Meg didn't say anything more, and began unpacking a few of her things. Christine pondered what she had said and realized she was right. After a few minutes of silence, she blurted out,

"Raoul…he had a drinking problem." Meg looked up in surprise. Christine kept her eyes cast downward, absentmindedly going through the few things she'd packed. "Apparently becoming the patron of the opera house, having to spend so much time there—it was a form of distraction for him, helping to wean him off the alcohol. Once it collapsed, he exercised poor judgment and began drinking again. When he was drunk, he tended to be rather violent—throwing things, screaming at everyone. I wouldn't have minded, not really, but…"

"But one day he started turning on you?" Meg guessed. Christine's clenched grip of her bag gave the answer. Taking a shaky breath, she continued.

"At first, I thought he didn't really know what he was doing when he was drunk. He'd shout about the most ridiculous things, if I tried to calm him down, he hit me, if I apologized, he'd usually been in too much of a rage at that point to really realize what I was saying. He'd beg my forgiveness afterwards, and I kept telling myself '_this will be the last time and then I'll get him back_'.

"Then one night…one night he had his friends over. They always drank together, making bets with each other and going out occasionally. I was in the kitchen, helping to clean up. I was singing to myself; I thought they were long gone to some other part of the house. He and two of his friends came in. They were more intoxicated than I'd ever seen them, and they had heard me singing. One of his friends grabbed my wrist. Raoul threw a few things around the room. Eventually…well, let's say the next morning I woke up with more bruises than skin. According to the butler who'd found me and forced them to stop, I had been knocked unconscious eventually. I almost didn't make it." Meg was staring at Christine in horror. "But do you want to know something?" Christine said. "Throughout that entire night, Erik's face kept coming to mind. Even though he lied to me and hurt me, it was mostly because he felt inadequate. Raoul hit me simply because he could. At one point, I think I even cried out '_angel, please save me_'." Christine finally looked up to see Meg's eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"So the question now is, did you use Erik as an escape from Raoul, just like you used Raoul as an escape from Erik? Or do you truly love him?" The question caught Christine completely off guard.

Outside the door, having been listening the entire time, was Erik, also straining to hear an answer, his emotions roiling.

"Even when I left him at the opera, I loved him," Christine said, relief palpable in her voice—she was finally able to express what she had known since that last night, which had tormented her. "I left him because I didn't know how else to save him and be free at the same time. Eventually I realized the choice I had made wasn't a choice at all."

Erik felt a weight lift off his chest. Relief wasn't a strong enough word to describe the unrestrained joy he felt at hearing those words. He turned away from the door, a new spring in his step. Once he returned to his cabin, however, he thought about the torments Christine had suffered at the hands of the viscount, and an old familiar rage rose up inside him. A killing rage.

If he ever saw the viscount again, the Phantom of the Opera would make him suffer.

**Yup, this one's even shorter than the others, but I think its intensity of content makes up for it. Review, please!**


	6. Chapter 6

**I updated a little in chapter five, since helikestheymikey was wondering why the traumatic experience Christine described to Meg was "just a bruising". I mean, no beating like that should ever be taken lightly, but I added in that Christine had pretty much been beaten to death at that point (yes, it's possible). There doesn't have to be sexual molestation for something to be traumatic, although I appreciate the input.**

**Sorry it took a little while to post this, by the way. It's November, which for me means it's National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, (check out the NaNoWriMo website for details, but basically I have to write 1,667 words a day to meet 50K in a month and I'm trying to meet that goal) and I've been focusing on planning that plus a different fanfic. There's also the unimportant stuff like school, but who cares about school? Don't worry, though, I haven't forgotten about you guys! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies.**

Chapter Six

"How much longer are we staying on this ship again?" Erik growled, pacing back and forth in the cabin he and Nadir shared. It was only the first day and Erik was going crazy with the inactivity. He had a limited supply of staff paper and didn't want to waste it all on the first day.

"Patience, my friend," Nadir laughed. "If you were so patient locked up in the opera house, what's the difference with this ship?"

"The opera house was entirely different, it was full of music and activity, and I was very busy _running_ it," Erik pointed out. "I built secret passageways everywhere; it wasn't nearly as confining as this."

"I suppose you've got a point there," Nadir admitted. "But you really must stop pacing. You're making me tired out just watching you."

"I just wish there was something I could be doing," Erik said in irritation.

"What about talking with Christine? Perhaps you could pass the time singing or composing with that angel of yours." Erik stopped pacing and looked at Nadir with an odd light in his eyes. Nadir chuckled. "Hadn't thought of that?"

"That's not it," Erik snarled. Nadir was absolutely certain he saw the man blush but decided wisely not to tease him about it. "Well…what if she doesn't want to? Sing for me, I mean?"

"Erik, she came back to you, didn't she? And she already said she still wants to sing as a career. Just go ask her." In order to further expedite the idea, Nadir opened the door and walked out, calling to the women (whose room was just down the hall). "Madame and Miss Giry! Miss Daaé!"

Christine poked her head out the door, smiling when she saw Nadir.

"Yes, Mr. Khan?"

"Erik and I were wondering if you three were suffering from the same sort of boredom we seem to be experiencing."

"Yes, nothing ever seems to change," she said glumly. "Even the rehearsals at the Opera Populaire weren't nearly this monotonous."

"Agreed," Meg Giry said, opening the door fully. "At least La Carlotta provided some comedic relief," she said ruefully.

"I suggested to Erik that you all have a sort of rehearsal here, but he wouldn't ask any of you."

"Excellent idea, considering we're supposed to perform tomorrow," the ballet instructor said matter-of-factly. When everyone looked at her in confusion, she asked, "Did I not tell you? That's the reason I was able to get us all on this freighter. I realize having Erik perform might be impractical, but Christine and Meg are fully capable of entertaining the captain and his subordinates with a few songs. So am I, if it comes down to it. It might even be beneficial for work experience when we get to America."

Erik appeared behind Nadir, appearing to have been listening, since he wore the same expression of incredulity the rest of them did.

"You must be joking," he said, moving towards Christine and putting an arm around her, the door closing behind him and Nadir. "Christine is not going to be used as a common entertainer. Nor Meg," he added hastily. The thought of his Christine reduced to a mere cabaret performer sickened him down to his core. Of course, she would probably be upset as well if she knew what he was planning to do to raise money…even in America, there had to be freak sideshows. With his face, he was bound to get a job.

"It's all right, Erik," Christine soothed, stroking his hand. "If it will bring in some money for when we get to America, it's worth it. I have a little saved up that I brought with me, but it's not going to last forever."

"I still have money too, Christine," Erik argued.

"It's all irrelevant!" Madame Giry snapped. "The only reason we're all here on this ship is because I promised the captain and his subordinates that there would be performances. We don't have a choice." The group stood in silence for a moment, until Meg broke it.

"Well, then, we don't have time to waste," the tiny blond said briskly. "We need to think of costumes, songs, and even dances, that is, if there's a means of creating background music."

"They're providing a piano for the performances," Madame Giry said. "Supposedly it's good quality, the captain spends lavishly upon himself. He apparently keeps at least three performers on the ship with him, who we're expected to perform with. There's also a small stage."

"This is a freighter?" Nadir muttered. "Sounds more like a luxury liner."

"In any case, it's advantageous for us," the former ballet instructor continued. "Erik, you can return to your room, this doesn't really concern you."

"Forget it, I'm performing," Erik said brusquely. Christine looked at him with a mix of fear and delight. Erik looked at her with a serious expression, though his eyes had softened as his angel gazed at him. "If you think I'm letting you perform without me on this ship, you're delusional." Seeing Christine's eyes sparkle the way they did after he said that made the risk completely worth it.

"Erik, that's probably not a wise decision," Madame Giry warned. "There are three other performers on the ship that we need to collaborate with, two of whom will be returning to France after this voyage."

"I'll put bandages over my face instead of a mask," Erik said with a finality only the Phantom could muster. "I won't let Christine—and Meg, of course—perform alone for strange men they don't know." Madame Giry sighed.

"Well, I know from previous experience I can't stop you," she said distastefully.

"I would think so, considering I used to employ you," Erik said with a smile. Nadir chuckled. Suddenly, everyone started laughing, good hearty laughs from their bellies, releasing the tension pent up inside them for so long.

* * *

"Enunciation," Erik chided, barely keeping his temper in check. "You can't just let your voice slide lazily to each note; you need to be conscious of every consonant and vowel you form from the source to your lips." Two of the three other performers all huffed in indignation and whispered mutinously among themselves. The third watched Erik intensely, seeming to absorb every one of his words. Christine was intrigued by her, but she seemed so shy.

"How do you stand him?" a short brunette named Lillian said in a whisper to Christine. "He's so critical." Christine just smiled.

"From the beginning," Erik said. He was pacing in front of the stage. They had been working for a solid seven hours in the Stage Room of the freighter, as the captain insisted on calling it. It had taken that long to agree on a few acts and to work out all the harmonies. The acoustics weren't exactly opera house standards, but it was, unfortunately all they had. Christine gently put her hand on Erik's shoulder. He looked up, startled.

"Perhaps we should stop for today?" she suggested quietly. He looked at her, startled.

"Yes…yes, all right, Christine," Erik said distractedly. Christine smiled and gently sat him down in a chair located off to the side.

"I'm going to go talk to Meg, angel. You just sit and rest. You're being too stressful over this." Christine walked over to her friend, who was stretching her arms and legs like she used to do as a member of the ballet at the opera seemingly without realizing. "Miss it?" she asked, laughing a little. Meg looked at herself, seeming startled to realize what her body was automatically doing.

"Yeah, I guess I do," Meg laughed. "I was always a dancer, you know? I like singing, too, but dancing has always been the most natural. And I've always had such a rigorous exercise schedule, going so long without the activity is bothering me."

"I know what you mean," said Christine, who had caught herself unconsciously stretching throughout the day. "I've always liked singing more than dancing, though."

"I would hope so, considering that I taught you," Erik said, appearing behind his angel. Meg stuck her tongue out at the pair of them.

"Umm…excuse me?" a quiet voice sounded behind them. It was the quiet girl, the third performer. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you had any more advice for me. About singing, I mean." The girl shuffled her feet. "I'm mostly an aerialist, but I like singing, too…and in America you have to be versatile and take any opportunity that comes along." The girl looked up, glancing back and forth between the three opera veterans. "Sorry. I'm Fleck, by the way." Christine glanced at Erik, pleased that his eyes softened and she could almost see the gears working in his head—the girl had potential, she had recognized it, and clearly her angel had recognized it too.

"I'll go get us something to eat," Meg said with a knowing smile. Laughing, she practically skipped from the room, a happy-go-lucky ballet dancer.

"Thank you, Meg," Christine said. She glanced back at Erik and was somewhat dismayed to see him back on his feet with a burst of adrenaline, and made a decision. "Go back to your room and rest, Erik."

"What?" Erik said incredulously, turning to his angel.

"You've been on your feet, working, all day. You need to take a break now."

"Christine, this is far less work than—" he checked himself before he mentioned the opera house—"my last job. I do not need to rest now."

"Fine, then if you won't listen to that request, how about this: I want to teach her." Erik gazed at her. She was staring at him with a determination he was familiar with, since he often experienced it himself. The Phantom of the Opera laughed quietly to himself and kissed his angel's temple.

"All right. You teach her. I'll see you in a little while, my angel." Christine smiled in triumph and nodded, murmuring a farewell as her angel swept out of the room in a very opera-ghost like fashion. She turned around to see the girl Fleck watching her curiously.

"You two really do love each other, don't you?" she said uncertainly.

"Yes, we do," Christine said softly. "Shall we get on with the singing lesson, then, Miss Fleck?" The girl nodded eagerly.

Erik listened from behind the doorway and smiled—the girl was in good hands. His angel had learned from the best, after all. He stayed at the door for the next hour as Christine instructed the young Miss Fleck as skillfully as if he had been teaching her himself. He left just before Christine and Fleck exited the Stage Room, his heart and soul threatening to burst with the love he felt inside.

* * *

**This chapter's a lot longer than the last one and the other ones. I wasn't planning it that way, but I guess it makes up for the shortness of the last one and how long it took to put this up. Please review! And please, if there are any mistakes or you have any criticisms, tell me! I'll try to fix them as best I can.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I wish Ramin Karimloo was my age and attended my school. I would die of happiness. Woohoo, inspiration! I've been having trouble deciding where the story's going to go, but I think I've got it now! Yay, hurray, bee friend, hurray! (If none of you get that reference…well, I feel sorry for you. XD )**

**You know the drill; read, rate and review! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies or any of the characters in this fanfic besides the private detectives, the captain and his subordinates, and the two performers from the last chapter.**

**CLAIMER, PLEASE READ THIS!: Yes, I'm claiming something! I actually wrote the first song featured in this chapter. I would very much appreciate if no one stole the lyrics. It took a lot of consideration for me to put it up on here. I'm not putting up the whole thing, because it's not finished, but it's still mine and what I have is precious to me. For the purposes of the fic, we're going to pretend it's finished since what I'm putting up can pass for a short song. Please, please, _please_ don't steal the lyrics. I'm doing this because I love you guys.**

Chapter Seven

Two weeks had passed since the initial rehearsal, and Miss Fleck had blossomed beautifully. She now exhibited a clear preference for Christine and Meg over the other two performers, who apparently were best friends and hadn't met Fleck until they had embarked. The route was indeed very roundabout, and Erik was certain they could have gotten to America by then, but he was grateful for the stall in time—he was spending so much time with his Christine, precious, precious moments.

When everyone else had gone to sleep, Christine and the Phantom walked hand in hand to the Stage Room where the piano waited. They sat together on the floor and talked together for hours. Just talking and occasionally a kiss or two. There was nothing of truly intense passion, no mysterious and dominating Phantom, no Angel of Music or Miss Daaé, soprano extraordinaire. Just them. Christine and Erik.

"So, my angel," Erik said softly to her, entwining his fingers with hers and gazing into her eyes. "What are you thinking about?" Christine shifted, amazed at the intensity of Erik's gaze.

"You," she confessed.

"Me?" he said with a smile, leading her on. She ducked her head shyly.

"I was thinking how I wasn't expecting for it to be this way, the night that I found you."

"And what were you expecting?" Erik asked quietly. He didn't smile now; he just waited for her answer. It was a while before it came. Christine stared at their entwined hands thoughtfully for a moment.

"I'm not certain, really," she said. "But this is so much more than I could ever have asked for." She looked and up kissed her love, and he returned it.

"When we arrive in America, my Christine," Erik said, his mouth inches from hers, "I shall design a palace just for you. You will be the queen of music."

Christine smiled. "That sounds lovely," she said, "But for now I'd rather just be your queen, and find a home where I can come home to you."

Abruptly, Erik pulled Christine to her feet, and went to sit at the piano in corner of the room.

"I want you to hear something," he said, sounding almost nervous. "I wrote it after…after you left." Putting his fingers on the keys as lightly as an echo, he began singing softly,

"_Looking down where I fall,_

_ There isn't time to think or stall_

_ Seeing dreams as falling stars_

_ Crashing to the ground_

_ Why aren't you with me?_

_ I can't seem to remember being without you before_

_ It's strange but it seems_

_ Like I've left reality behind_

_ I thought you told me_

_ 'it takes two wings to fly'_

_ One wing is useless _

_ Against the weight of the sky_

_ Pushing me down_

_ Growing a new set of wings_

_ Is harder than it seems_

_ Don't we all wish_

_ We could be stars in the sea_

_ Out in this great unknown_

_ Beyond any comfort zone_

_ I flail around_

_ Trying to find my wings again_

_ Sunrise hurts my eyes_

_ Moonlight makes me cry_

_ Because there is no light within this world_

_ Without you_

_ I thought you told me_

_ 'it takes two wings to fly'_

_ One wing is useless _

_Against the weight of the sky_

_Pushing me down."_

As his voice, his beautiful, otherworldly voice faded away, tears lodged in Christine's throat. She had caused that suffering. She had torn one of her angel's wings away from him.

"What…what did you call it?" she asked, trying not to let her voice shake. Erik looked directly into her eyes, his voice a mere whisper.

"_Cast Out of Heaven_."

"Oh, Erik," Christine said, burning with shame and close to sobbing, "Can you ever forgive me?" He responded by taking her hands in his, and kissing them, afterwards pulling his beloved angel into an embrace. He was close to tears himself.

"After all I've made you go through—after everything that viscount did to you—" Christine glanced up in surprise, but recalled his eavesdropping habits from the opera and forgave it—"how could you ever think I would deem myself worthy of any kind of forgiveness from you?"

Suddenly, they were both crying, tears of both sadness and joy, but mostly tears of release. They clutched at each other, each holding the other together in every way possible. Saving each other.

They had their wings again.

* * *

"You're lucky I found you and not those two crazy girls," Madame Giry growled as she led Erik and Christine from the Stage Room early that morning. They had fallen asleep without meaning to, feeling safe in each other's arms and not wanting to leave. "They hardly shut up as it is."

"Come now, Antoinette, you're used to chatty ballet girls, aren't you?" Nadir said with a raised eyebrow.

"My girls generally knew when to be quiet," Giry said. "These girls chatter incessantly." Indeed, the girls (Lillian and Gina were their names) had fast made reputations for themselves on the ship, both among the crew and the performers, for being gossips. Christine would have been pestered about every intimate detail of her life had they found out.

They made their way to the galley of the ship, where the captain insisted upon the performers eating with him. He was himself a chatty man, well aware of his importance, _too_ aware, in fact, since he insisted upon exaggerating it. Lillian and Gina fawned upon him, but the rest of them preferred not to speak to him. His subordinates were all good people, however, and generally made for pleasant conversation. Fleck sat by Christine. She had really taken a liking to the brunette.

"What were you doing in France?" Christine asked.

"I worked in a circus there for two years," Fleck said, taking a piece of bread (the captain insisted upon fresh bread being baked every day). "It just went under, so now I'm going to America. They say it's easier for circus performers to find jobs there."

"Did you have a specific place or company in mind?" Erik asked. Where there were circuses, there were sideshows.

"I was thinking Coney Island. Have you heard of it?" They shook their heads. "There are amusement parks and circuses everywhere in that place. They say everything is illuminated by electric lights. They're always looking for performers, even if a lot of the main attractions are sideshow freaks." Everyone (meaning everyone of Erik's party) was staring at Miss Fleck with great interest.

"Tell us more," Meg said. The rest of them nodded.

_Coney Isle, glistening and glimmering_

_Rising bright, drenched with light_

_See it smile, beckoning and shimmering_

_All agleam, like a dream_

_Every fantasy set free, Sodom rising by the sea…_

_Coney Isle, miracle on miracle,_

_Light and sound, all around_

_Mile by mile, loud and lewd and lyrical_

_Thrill on thrill, never still_

_All America was there, beggar next to billionaire…_

* * *

**It seemed only appropriate to end with the Prologue of the original London cast. For some reason it's one of my favorite songs from the musical. Well, tell me what you think! Review! It's right there! Right underneath these words! Thanks!**


	8. Chapter 8

**As of right now there are 29 reviews, 9 favorites, and 19 follows! Huzzah!**

**I'm so pleased there was positive response to the last chapter. It's great that you all like the lyrics—knowing that really gave me a confidence boost. I love you guys :D**

**Sorry this took so long to put up, by the way. I had stuff written out, but then I decided to put that particular event later in the story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies.**

**Note: This chapter is mostly happy fluffy stuff before they get to America. That's when a lot of plots and OCs and other stuff are going to start up. Enjoy, rate, and review! **

Chapter Eight

"Didn't that Coney Island place sound marvelous?" Meg said to Christine later as their group was walking to their respective cabins. Her eyes were bright and distant, star-dazzled dreamer's eyes. "I can't imagine such a place."

Christine smiled, trying to concentrate on Meg's words. Her back had suddenly begun bothering her, and she had a mild headache as well. Of course, Erik noticed.

"Christine?" he said with a look of concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, just a bit too hastily for sincerity. "You know, I think it would be nice to have some fresh air." They hadn't been outside at all—the dining hall and the Stage Room were both accessible from their cabins through different stairways and passages.

"The captain hasn't forbidden it," Nadir added. "The deck is just up through that stairway."

"I'll just be out for a few minutes, then," Christine said, suddenly feeling the walls of the ship closing in around her, and longing for her childhood memories of the sea.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Meg asked.

"I'll only be a moment," Christine promised. With that, she strode away, trying to alleviate any doubts. She walked quickly, flinging open the first door to the outside that she saw, and gasped as the cold night air hit her lungs. As soon as she saw the water, she felt better—the wind, the saltiness to the air, the appearance of the water—it was so familiar. It was comforting to know that the sea would always be there, even if the future was so uncertain.

She breathed in the night, concentrating on the beautiful water, the constant rise and fall of the ship, the sliver of the moon over the water.

"_We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea_," she sang to herself.

"_But please promise me that sometimes, you will think of me_," his voice sang softly. Christine didn't even turn as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Hello, my Christine." There had been no doubt, of course, that he would follow her.

"Hello, Erik," she said softly. For a few moments that seemed eternal, they just breathed together, watching the water.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, then?" he finally asked.

"Nothing truly consequential," Christine said truthfully. "A little backache, that's all. This sea air has a way of making you feel alive until you go back indoors. Then you feel like every ounce of energy has melted away and you go to sleep."

"But we're outside, my angel," Erik whispered teasingly in her ear. "So do you feel alive?" Taking the bait, Christine turned around so she was facing him, leaning against the rail.

"Yes," she said, purposefully making certain her face was inches from his, so close that they could feel the electricity between them. A spark of passion was rekindled for the first time since starting the voyage, and being alone, they gave into it without a second thought.

Finding an empty stateroom was fairly easy, and no one found them.

* * *

When Christine woke the next morning, the first thing she saw was her angel's face. His mask was off, but Christine didn't mind in the slightest—his face was a shock when you first saw it, but it was fairly easy to get used to, and she'd had a lot of time. She loved his face with its imperfect asymmetry. She loved its ridges and its roughness and the discoloration of the skin and the malformation of the lips, because every bit of it was her precious angel. This was him. It wasn't as though half of his face was the Phantom and half of it was the Angel of Music—it was all him, and Christine loved him all the more fiercely because of it.

It was so perfect now, isolated on this ship. What would happen when they came to America? Would she ever feel as safe as she felt now, wrapped in her lover's embrace, watching him peacefully breathe as though he had no troubles in the world?

She knew why she had gone to Raoul in the first place—because he was so different from Erik, and of course she had first been afraid of his deformed face. However, Raoul's gallant and perfect exterior masked a cruel, spoiled child. Erik, on the other hand, hid nothing about his personality, not really. When he was pretending to be the Angel of Music, he was masking his identity, but his personality was still present—intense, obsessive, somewhat unstable, genius, insecure. Beautiful.

Beside her, Erik began to stir, his eyes still closed. Christine smiled contentedly.

"Good morning, Erik," she murmured, stroking his arm. She nestled her head to his chest, sighing. This was happiness. Erik opened his eyes, as joyfully surprised as ever to see his Christine beside him.

"I will never, ever take this for granted," he said softly.

"Have I 'saved you from your solitude', then?" Christine said teasingly. In answer, he claimed her lips, and the events of the previous night began again in a burst of fire…

* * *

**Okay, now that that's out of the way—next up, America! Review, please? Sorry it was so short, the next few ones will be long since they'll be plot-centered.**


	9. Chapter 9

**All right, here we are! America! Finally, we get to this not-so-wonderful country that I happen to live in, although granted this story is in 1907. Or 1917. Andrew Lloyd Webber completely messed up the timeline, so I'm honestly not sure. I sincerely apologize for the long wait—I actually wrote out a lot of one of the future chapters, but I've been having trouble working up to that point. Coming up in this chapter and in future installments, we have: suspense! Entertainment! Tears! Frustration! Fluff! And so much more! Enjoy, rate and review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies.**

Chapter Nine

Erik gripped Christine's hand as tightly as he could, and she gripped it right back—this was it. Disembarkation day (or rather night). _If only she knew what I was planning for myself_, Erik thought. He knew exactly what he wanted for her—to sing. He wanted America to behold his beautiful songbird in all her glory, glory which he had cultivated and helped bestow upon her. However, standing on the deck, watching the Statue of Liberty draw ever closer and seeing the outlines of towering buildings of New York City, everything seemed uncertain, like they were on unstable ground that could give way at the slightest tremor. It was nighttime, and it was hard to see, which made the experience even more surreal.

Now, stealing through the streets like the Phantom he was, except now he had Christine tagging along with him, Erik had no idea why she'd ever gone with him in the face of this uncertainty. Surely, surely she was meant for the light? Then again, had she actually gone with the fop, he probably wouldn't have been able to bear it…

"Here we are," Erik hissed, stopping abruptly. They were in front of a building that looked like any other on the street, but the Phantom confidently stole up the steps to the door and opened it with a key he found under the doormat. "Perfect."

"What is this place?" Meg whispered as he jiggled the key in the lock.

"An abandoned apartment building. The captain mentioned it one day; said he owns it but that no one was living in it at the moment."

"How did you find it?" Christine asked in amazement.

"He told me the address and said it was only a few blocks from the docks. I'm fairly used to finding my way in new places, and he gave me some important clues when I asked—" the lock gave way and Erik carefully opened the door—"carefully, of course." He quickly ushered the three women and Nadir inside, shutting the door with the smallest of squeaks. The room was orderly but dusty, like it was just waiting for someone to live there—the kitchen was clean, there was a small sofa in the room where they had entered, and two bedrooms towards the back.

"We can sleep here for tonight at least," Erik said.

"And then what?" Nadir asked.

"Christine and Erik get married, of course," Madame Giry said. Surprised silence greeted her words, along with blushing from the couple in question, so she snapped, "For practical reasons. How many people do you think will rent out an apartment to an unmarried couple?"

"We need money for apartments first," Meg said hastily, trying to save face for Erik and Christine.

"What should we do?" Christine asked, jumping gratefully on the change of subject (which was one she much rather would discuss in private with Erik, and not in front of the other three members of the party). "For jobs, I mean."

"Erik and I could probably find work doing odd jobs," Nadir suggested. "It'd be easy in a city like this. I could even find work in the police if I wanted to, probably."

"Mother, you and I could probably find work as dancers," Meg said.

"I'm getting too old to dance," her mother muttered.

"What?" Erik exclaimed in mock surprise. "Did I just hear Antoinette admit to being _old_?"

"Not another word from you, Erik," Madame Giry growled, but Christine saw her flickering smile. She suppressed a giggle herself. Madame Giry continued, "I'll try to find work as a dance instructor, like back in Paris."

"So where does that leave me?" Christine asked. Everyone looked at her in confusion.

"Aren't you going to sing?" Meg asked, like it was obvious.

"Do you think that's wise?" Christine asked, not looking at Erik—she didn't really want to see his reaction. "I mean, it'll be a little obvious if someone named Christine Daaé who disappeared from France pops up again in America as an opera singer along with someone who might be the Phantom, and _without_ her supposed fiancée?"

"That's fairly easy to get around," Erik snapped, then forced himself to regain control. He would _not_ let his own personal safety jeopardize Christine's singing career. "As long as you don't appear connected with me, or if we come up with a fairly convincing cover story, you can still sing—"

"Why don't we leave this until morning?" Meg interrupted, ever the peacekeeper. Nadir murmured agreement and flopped down on the couch. Antoinette headed to one of the bedrooms without another word and Meg followed, glancing back at Christine. With the unspoken acceptance of Erik and Christine sleeping in the same room, off they headed. As soon as they got there, snuggling under the covers, Christine spoke.

"What do you really think we should do, Erik?"

"You should sing," he said automatically.

"I know that's what you want, but how in the world will it work? I'm fine with being a ballet dancer again for a year or two as things get settled and the media backs off of your case."

"No!" Christine flinched at the intensity of his tone. "I'm sorry," Erik amended quickly, though he didn't sound very sorry at all. "But I stand by my opinion."

"I will not have you be caught just so you can hear one more song of mine," Christine said fiercely, sitting up and staring Erik down, something she had never dared to do before in an argument—his eyes were ever-changing and unreadable, like those of a wild animal. For a few moments they just stared at each other, tension mounting, trying to decide what to say and at the same time gauging each other's reactions.

Finally Erik gave in.

"Fine," he said in a strange tone. Christine was caught completely off guard, having expected an argument of some time.

"What—" she began to ask, suspecting some sort of ulterior motive, but her lover interrupted her.

"You said it yourself, my darling. I can't control you anymore. It's not my place to decide what you do. However, make no mistake—I do not agree with it, and I will find a way to make certain you _will_ sing." Sensing that the conversation was over, both settled into a silence that was somewhat uneasy, and fell asleep.

* * *

Erik and Nadir left the three women at the apartment; they had insisted on going to find jobs as dancers themselves that afternoon while the men took care of their own business. Madame Giry, Erik trusted, looked and acted sufficiently intimidating to scare off anyone who might think about accosting them. In addition, Miss Fleck had agreed to meet them and show them around the neighborhood—a fact that greatly eased Erik's nerves. He was used to moving around, but the women were not.

Nadir followed his friend, not looking at all happy.

"Are you sure about this, Erik?" he asked, hurrying behind the Phantom's long strides.

"Yes," Erik said matter-of-factly.

"What about Christine? What does she know about this?"

"Absolutely nothing," Erik said in a steely tone.

"Well, I can't see that blowing up in your face at some point," the Persian said sarcastically.

"It won't," Erik said coldly.

"Why on Earth won't you tell her?"

"It's for her protection."

"Protection? That's just an eloquent way of saying you'd prefer to shut her out!" Erik spun around, and Nadir realized—he'd crossed an invisible line. He had gone way too far.

"Don't—you—_dare_—" Erik advanced towards him, punctuating each word with a step—"talk to me that way, Nadir. I _don't_ need your approval on how I handle my relationships." Nadir seemed like he bit back some kind of cutting response, and dropped his eyes—a sign of defeat. "Look, Nadir—Miss Fleck said that there were lots of sideshows at Coney Island featuring human freaks. Natural deformities like mine are in great demand, and Coney seems like it does very steady business, so I'll be guaranteed a decent wage. Working in a freak show isn't hard unless you have nothing to distract you from the boredom." With that, Erik turned back around and began walking, then sighed when he realized his friend was not keeping pace, clearly shocked by his cold dismissal of self. "I would do anything for her, Nadir. Anything. This is _nothing_."

With that, he began walking again, this time with Nadir following. They strolled through Coney Island towards the parks in silence for a while, until Erik stopped again, looking at a sign. "Well, this looks promising." A bright red wooden sign announced _Mr. Z's Wonders and Astonishments—Human Freaks!_ along with a smaller sign telling the reader about the dollar admission. Erik turned to Nadir. "Care to join me?"

Nadir shook his head. "I'm going to see about job opportunities in the police force."

"Suit yourself." Erik walked inside, asking to speak to the manager. The man who received him gazed curiously at the cloth over his face, and went to the manager. Within a few minutes, Erik was standing in front of the man, who looked at him expectantly.

"What can I do for you?" Mr. Z asked.

"Hello," Erik said, beginning to take the cloth off the side of his face. "I'm looking for a job."

* * *

***wipes sweat off brow* Wow, that took a lot longer than I thought it would. Again, sorry for the wait; I promise the next chapter will be up much faster. Promise! Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**As of right now, there are 48 reviews, 18 favorites, and 33 follows! *sparklers and glitter and trumpets go off everywhere***

**I love all you guys. Seriously. If I hadn't known there were people waiting to read this story, I probably would have quit weeks ago. So thanks to everyone who followed, reviewed, and favorite-ed! You have no idea how much that means to me. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies.**

**Note: I fully condone Raoul-bashing. Feel free to bring on the hate.**

**Second Note: This chapter takes place approximately two months after the start of the story. They were on the ship for maybe three weeks, and they've been in America for about a month now. I didn't want there to be any kind of confusion about the timeline.**

**Third Note: The italics indicate a flashback. **

**Enjoy, rate, and review!**

Chapter 10

The Viscount de Chagny ground his teeth walking down the streets of New York. He didn't think he'd ever been to a more repulsive city in his life; there were common rabble everywhere. He couldn't stand much more of the beggars on the side of the road and the disgusting filth left in the middle of the street.

It had been a month since he had left France and he barely had any kind of lead on his missing fiancée or the people traveling with her. The incompetent private detectives, two of whom had come with him from France to continue the investigation, were of absolutely no help. The proud viscount was therefore left with absolutely nothing but the name of the ship the demon had arrived on, and according to the records at the harbor, it had already left. Apparently, there hadn't been any registered passengers aboard.

Raoul leaned against the side of a building, thoroughly irritated. Several teenage boys were located a few feet away, smoking cigarettes and talking.

"Do you want to go to Coney Island?" one of them asked lazily, flicking ashes at the street.

"Nah, all they've got there are freaks and roller coasters. Kid stuff," the tallest one said. He was clearly the leader.

"I heard that one of the sideshows got a new guy," one of them piped up.

"There's always new freaks coming in," the second tallest said dismissively.

"Yeah, but I heard that this guy looks like a monster," the first kid said. "Apparently one side of his face looks like a demon or something."

That got Raoul's attention.

It looked like he was taking a trip to Coney Island.

* * *

Erik sat in his cage, gritting his teeth and covering his face with a ragged cloth like he was supposed to. He wasn't allowed to wear his wig, unfortunately, which he had been expecting but was still somewhat irked about.

Every day, a part of him wondered why he was doing this. Every day, he reprimanded himself. This wasn't about him. This was about Christine.

His wife.

That fact kept him going every single day. He once more thought about that wonderful day, which he still had trouble believing had actually happened…

_ It wasn't the dress he had designed for her in the opera. Actually, it was Madame Giry's wedding dress, which she had refused to leave behind in France, with a few minor alterations to fit Christine's figure to be taken out once Christine was done with it. It wasn't anything that Erik would ever have designed for her himself—even Madame Giry's wedding dress had been almost ridiculously simple, a floor length corseted gown with only a simple scoop neck and buttons going down the front—but Erik didn't care. She looked beautiful. No, she looked angelically stunning. _

_ It had of course been a very small event—just Antoinette, Meg, Nadir, and the happy couple—but that hadn't stopped Erik from feeling the magnitude of what was happening. He barely heard the priest declaring them husband and wife, because he was so lost in her eyes…her chocolate brown eyes perfectly matching the shade of her hair and sparkling on the edge of tears…he was drowning in happiness, his heart feeling like it was going to burst out of his chest…_

"And in here, we have the Two-Faced Monster!" a high-pitched, sleazy voice brought him crashing back to reality. _Thank the powers that be for common rabble not reading newspapers,_ Erik thought bitterly. Knowing what he had to do, he waited until the entire crowd had come in, then dramatically pulled the cloth off his face, turning around slowly after he did so. His ears tried to block out the shrieks and the laughter and the pain, but it was hard to ignore. Then they left, and he was alone. Erik's thoughts once again turned to Christine and her voice, the only things keeping him going. How much longer until he could see her at the end of the day…?

Miss Fleck came in not two minutes later, answering his prayers. She also worked for Mr. Z as an aerialist and a contortionist, being double jointed. Behind her were men whose names Erik had never known, they simply went by Squelch and Gangle, which were their stage names. Squelch was a hunchbacked, tattooed strong man with an extreme soft spot for the seemingly delicate Miss Fleck. Gangle, on the other hand, was not a freak at all but in fact the cousin of Mr. Squelch. He was nearly always by the man's side, supposedly for Squelch having saved his life several years previously.

"Park's closing," she said, unlocking the cage. "Here's your money for the week; the manager gave it to me." She shoved a wad of bills in Erik's hand. "You're lucky you can afford to live outside the park," she said a little wistfully.

"It's more necessity than luxury," Erik said. Fleck raised her eyebrows, but didn't ask for elaboration. She knew Erik would do anything but give her any.

As Erik walked home to the small apartment which he and Christine shared, his spirits lifted. She would be home by now with Meg and Antoinette from the ballet studio they were working at, and they would get together for a small dinner. Nadir would stop by an hour or so later, and they would talk for a while until everyone decided to go to bed.

Erik trudged up the stairs to the apartment, opening the door with his key, welcomed by the scent of fresh bread and other enticing aromas.

"Christine?" he called out.

"In the kitchen, darling," her voice answered. He loved it when she called him that.

"How was work?" Christine asked, perking up and smiling when she saw him, but seeming preoccupied. (Erik had told his wife that he was working odd jobs around Coney Island, where keeping part of his face hidden wouldn't seem very out of place.)

"Hot," he said truthfully.

"Mmm," she said absentmindedly, stirring whatever concoction it was she was making. Satisfied for the moment, she sat down in a chair in the tiny kitchen, looking absolutely exhausted.

"Go rest, my angel," Erik suggested, feeling terrible that she worked hard throughout the day while he simply sat in a cage and people gawked at him. "I'll finish this."

"Oh, thank you," Christine said with her eyes closed, relief palpable in her voice.

"Your day wasn't very easy, then?" Erik guessed, getting up to keep an eye on the food.

"Not dancing for a while certainly took its toll on my shape, that's for certain," Christine said ruefully.

"You should be singing, not dancing," Erik said.

"I really don't want to get into this argument," she said before he could start.

"Nothing happened at work today, did it?" he asked, glancing at her.

"No, nothing at work."

"None of the other dancers harassed you?"

"Really, darling, even if they had—which they didn't," she added quickly, "You wouldn't exactly be able to drop a curtain on top of them, would you?" Erik chuckled at the memory of La Carlotta's shriek as the curtain fell on her. His wife, on the other hand, sighed and closed her eyes.

"Christine, go to sleep."

"No."

"Go on."

"No!"

"Fine." Erik scooped her up, taking her by complete surprise. Apparently she was too tired to put up a fight.

"This isn't fair," she whined, though she kept her eyes closed.

_Oh, yes it is,_ Erik thought sadly as he laid her down on their bed. _Yes it is_.

* * *

**Thoughts? Suggestions? Raoul-bashing? I'd like to hear it all. So review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I've officially passed 50 reviews and 3000 views! I love you all! Life is good!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies.**

**Note: I chose the last name "Roux" for Erik and Christine for two reasons: one, it is a relatively common French last name; two, in order to honor Gaston Leroux, without whom the story would not exist.**

**Second Note: Like I said in the last chapter, I fully condone Raoul-bashing, so feel free.**

Chapter 11

Raoul had decided not to confront the demon at the freak show. He might not have been able to find Christine if that had been the case, and those blasted Americans probably would have arrested _him_ for harassment or something equally ridiculous.

But he had a plan.

* * *

Christine woke up suddenly around one in the morning, not entirely sure why. Her legs, abdominal muscles, and even her arms were still aching from the day's exercise, and she was still exhausted. Erik was asleep beside her and hadn't woken, and there wasn't a lot of noise to be heard coming from outside.

So what had woken her?

Then she felt it.

Beyond the pain and soreness, beyond the normal gurgling of her stomach, there was a…a fluttering sensation. Like something like tickling her from the inside, or like there was a butterfly in her stomach. It was like a physical manifestation of a whisper.

Christine's mind blanked out in shock. All she could focus on was the tiny pianissimo sensation. She thought about waking Erik up, but instantly dismissed it. She didn't know if this sensation was what she thought it was.

She didn't know if she was pregnant.

* * *

"Well," the midwife said briskly after finishing the examination, "You're obviously pregnant."

Christine felt like someone had hit her over the head with a brick.

"What?" she asked numbly.

It was late afternoon after the dance rehearsal. Christine had been lucky enough to hear Madame Giry mention a French-speaking midwife located in the apartment building where they were residing.

"Pregnant," the woman said matter-of-factly. "As in expecting. At least you're married; a lot of girls around here aren't."

"You must be joking," Christine said shakily. She sat down in total shock and denial, feeling faint.

"Certainly not," the midwife said in a slightly indignant tone. "If you were in this profession you would know this is nothing to joke about. You are definitely pregnant. Now, I really must get going. Good day to you, Ms. Roux." With that the doctor left, leaving Christine in a state of incredulity with her emotions in chaos.

Pregnant. Pregnant with Erik's child. She wasn't sure whether to be terrified or elated. But she knew one thing for certain—it meant one more mouth to feed, and it also meant that she'd be out of a dancing job, perhaps permanently. There was only one solution.

She had to sing.

Snapping her out of her reverie several moments later when she heard the sound of footfalls on the stairs. Quickly, she ran her hands through her hair and smoothed down her dress, standing up when she heard the door open. She assumed it was her husband—perhaps he had gotten off work a little early today.

"You're absolutely certain you saw that demon enter this apartment?" she heard a familiar voice ask. But not the voice of her husband.

It was Raoul's voice.

"Yes," answered a voice she didn't know.

"Well, this proves it," Raoul said with a disgusted tone. Christine heard the sound of sheets of paper being carelessly tossed aside—Erik's compositions that he'd left on the kitchen table.

_No. No. No._ Just the sound of it filled her with more terror than Erik ever had, because there was no doubt in her fear, no lingering sense of love or attachment. This was a pure terror. Christine registered three things:

Erik wasn't here to protect her. He likely wouldn't be home for a half hour at least.

There was nowhere to run unless she jumped out a window.

She had absolutely no idea how Raoul would react to seeing _her_, let alone seeing the wedding band on her finger and her slightly swollen belly (if indeed he noticed it).

Heart hammering in her throat, Christine hid underneath the bed. A somewhat childish and desperate gesture, but then again it was just about the best option she had. Unconsciously, Christine cradled her belly, to protect her little one growing inside. Then a miracle happened.

"What is the meaning of this?" Madame Giry's angry voice came from the living room. Despite this, Christine didn't dare move from her hiding place.

"Madame Giry," Raoul sneered. "I should have known. Where have you hidden the man this time? Find another opera house for him to play in?"

"Erik isn't here," the older woman growled. "This is breaking and entering. I suggest you leave immediately."

"My dear, you are outnumbered," Raoul cruelly reminded her. "So tell us, where is he?"

"Clearly not here," Antoinette taunted. Somehow she almost sounded as though she was enjoying herself.

"Don't play games with us, Madame," the other voice warned. "We've seen the Opera Ghost on these premises."

"Then he can't very well be a ghost, can he?"

"Where is Christine?" Raoul shouted, close to a breaking point.

"Christine?" Madame Giry feigned surprise excellently. Christine could practically feel the older woman's brain whirring from across the apartment. "Didn't your pretty fiancée stay in France with you?"

"Don't play coy with me," the viscount hissed. "Where has the Phantom hidden her?"

"Nowhere," Madame Giry answered. "You have no evidence that he took her."

"And what of your daughter?" said Raoul.

"She is living with some ballet girls."

"Not exactly a likely story, but we'll have to check into it later," the other man reminded Raoul. "Right now finding your fiancée and the Opera Ghost is your top priority. We should check the rest of the apartment."

A new wave of fear rushed from Christine's heart to her fingertips. Curling herself up to be as small as possible and trying not to move or make a sound, Christine closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the footsteps drawing ever closer.

They were right next to her. Opening her eyes a crack and holding her breath, Christine saw a pair of brown trousers—Raoul's. She somehow forced herself not to flinch or gasp as he violently flung open the wardrobe she and Erik shared.

"Here's your _evidence_, Madame," Raoul laughed harshly. "Christine's dresses and that demon's mask, right here." Christine heart dropped into her stomach like a stone, throbbing with fear. She started shaking uncontrollably, gripping her hands in fists in a futile effort to control it in some way, and biting her lips shut to keep from screaming.

"The question is, where—"

"Both of you—hands up where I can see them!" shouted a man.

Christine had never been so glad to hear Nadir's voice in her life.

"Backs to the wall," the Persian growled. Christine heard several people shifting throughout the apartment.

"You said we weren't followed," Raoul said in a dangerous tone to his companion.

"We weren't," the man said nervously. "Someone in the building must have sounded an alarm of some kind." Christine suddenly realized that Meg wasn't there. Antoinette must have sent her to find Nadir and Erik.

"I am an officer of the law," Nadir said to the men. "However, I think we all know why you're here. In exchange for keeping silent about the Opera Ghost and not coming onto these premises again, I will not arrest you. Do I have your word?"

"You can't seriously expect—" Raoul started incredulously.

"Your word or I will shoot you here and now and report that you were threatening violence upon the inhabitants and that I was defending them, which is more or less true." Christine heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. "Make your choice."

_Make your choice._ The same words Erik had thrust upon her that last night in the opera.

"Fine," Raoul practically choked out the words. "Fine. But this isn't the end of this."

"Keep in mind that there's a gun aimed straight at your face," Nadir snarled. It seemed too good to be true, but two pairs of footsteps clearly exited the apartment and went down the stairs. Every footfall was like an electric shock to Christine, who was too terrified to move. Vaguely she heard the door shut.

"Christine?" Madame Giry called out. "Christine, are you here?" Shaking, the brunette extricated herself from underneath the bed.

"In here," she called out with a shaking voice. Madame Giry rushed over, looking concerned. "Well, that was frightening," Christine said, trying to sound lighthearted. The next second, she burst out crying, the horrible kind where your chest heaves and you make choking sounds whenever you breathe. Wordlessly, Madame Giry took the young woman in her arms and spoke low, comforting words, trying to soothe her as best she could.

"Erik will be up in a few minutes once Nadir has escorted those two off the block," she said soothingly. Sure enough, within a minute, Erik had swept into the room, looking ready to kill the fop (preferably with the Punjab lasso). His expression softened as he nodded his thanks to Antoinette and gathered his wife in his arms, trying to calm her sobs. They broke his heart.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" she asked, the sound muffled by his now tear-stained shirt.

"It's my fault all this has happened to you."

"It's not your fault he came after you."

"No, but it's my fault he came after you."

Christine didn't answer for a few moments as her breathing calmed down and she loosed her grip on Erik's shirt. There wasn't anything she could say, really. They sat there, not speaking, for a long time, just being. Then Christine took a deep breath, knowing what she had to say. One last tear squeezed itself out of her eye.

"That last night in the opera…when you asked me to spend the rest of my life with you," she began shakily, "Did you ever think that I might get pregnant?"

It wasn't something they had ever discussed or worried about simply because there hadn't been time, so Christine wasn't surprised when she looked up and saw confusion cloud Erik's face.

"Why do you ask, my angel?" Christine didn't even have to tell him. She just looked him in the eye and he read her answer there, plain as day.

_I am pregnant._ The air around them was charged with the unspoken words.

"…pregnant?" Erik asked hoarsely, eyes flicking to her slightly swollen belly.

"Erik, aren't you…" Christine tried, and her breath caught in her throat, so she tried again, "Aren't you happy?"

"Oh, Christine, don't you realize what I've done to you?" Erik cried, standing up and starting to pace. He was clearly distressed beyond anything Christine had anticipated, in his agitation he ripped off the cloth covering his face, exposing his deformed side. "This is what I've condemned you to, and the child will share my fate; I know it! I have cursed my own child! What have I done?" He was now the one sobbing into his hands, leaving his wife hurt beyond words.

"Do you think I care?" she found herself almost gasping, her voice high-pitched. The depth of her feeling of betrayal was unbelievable. "After _everything_ we've been through, we're in a position to create something beautiful, and you're _sorry_ about it?" Erik opened his mouth, dumbfounded, but she silenced him with her devastation. "I love you with all my heart and soul, not my eyes. Why would a child be any different?" Before he could protest, Christine grabbed her husband's hand and pressed it against her abdomen. "This child needs his father. I need you." To her utmost surprise, Erik's lips met hers in a soothing kiss.

"Forgive me," he implored. In answer, Christine nestled her face into his chest with a sigh of relief.

_We're going to be parents,_ she thought with a sense of awe. Erik was thinking the same thing, almost with a sense of denial.

_If that fop comes anywhere near her, now more than ever, I'll make him wish he never had been born_, Erik thought thunderously. He looked down at his wife in his arms with a sense of utmost tenderness. _I'll kill him. I'll kill him. I'll kill him._

* * *

"I'll kill him!" Raoul raged around his hotel room.

"I can't believe you agreed to that foreigner's terms," the private detective who hadn't come to the apartment muttered.

"You weren't there," the other said defensively. "He had his gun aimed straight at our heads."

"Still, what are you going to do now?" the first asked the viscount. Raoul stopped moving around.

"We'll go back tonight."

**Wow! That's the longest chapter yet! If none of you have any harsh words to say to/about Raoul, I'll be deeply surprised and concerned. I honestly wasn't planning to have him show up in this chapter, and then he rudely walked into their apartment. I didn't even give him permission. Please review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm glad people found the time to review and Raoul-bash! And thanks a million times over (again) to judybear236 for catching my various grammatical errors! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies. **

**Erik: No, I do, seeing as I technically wrote some of the music in the show.**

**Me: You're a character. Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote the music. **

**Erik: *raises Punjab lasso***

**Me: *keeps hand at level of eyes***

***standoff occurs***

**Me: You know what? I'm just going to start the chapter now.**

**Note: The italics indicate a flashback.**

Chapter 12

Christine woke up in the hospital. Her first instinct—to look for Erik—yielded no results she frantically whipped her head around the room. As she made to get up, gentle hands stopped her—Meg's. She and Antoinette had apparently been sitting by her bedside, waiting for her to wake.

"How are you feeling?" Meg asked uncertainly.

"All right," Christine lied. Her knees and back ached, she was still sore all over from dancing, she felt lightheaded, and her worry for Erik was once again bringing the ocean to her insides in the form of nausea. "Where's my husband?"

"He's getting some stitches and other treatment," Madame Giry said carefully. "He'll have to stay in the hospital overnight, but otherwise he's going to be fine. The wounds weren't very deep."

Wounds…where had those come from? Christine tried to remember the events of the past few hours…

_ Christine stood just inside the door, trying to keep calm. Erik and Nadir were both standing outside, seemingly watching over the apartment. It would have been potentially dangerous for them to leave the apartment now. The men (and the women, for that matter) didn't believe for an instant that Raoul would make good on his promise to stay away from the apartment, and he was never one to wait for things. They hadn't left the apartment earlier for a very simple reason—Christine had fallen asleep from exhaustion, and Erik had wanted her to rest. Despite the obvious impracticality, none of the others had dared take it up with him once he had broken the news of her pregnancy to them._

_ Christine knew there was only one solution to all this. Despite her terror, she had to face Raoul and try to reason with him. Now here she was, spying on her husband and waiting for Raoul's inevitable confrontation—she knew him too well. He wouldn't want to wait._

_ She was still terrified at the prospect of meeting him. Knowing Erik was there, however, gave her the strength she needed. In the meantime, she couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Erik and Nadir._

_ "I can't believe you didn't take the chance to leave here earlier," Nadir chided his friend._

_ "You saw her," Erik defended. "That damn viscount scared her so badly just by being there that she burst into tears. She can't afford to be stressed in her condition. Moving in the dead of night for the third time would probably have been extremely stressful."_

_ "Just what do you planning on doing about that, by the way?" Nadir asked._

_ "What?"_

_ "You know very well what I'm talking about. Your job won't pay for both of you and Christine won't be able to dance professionally soon. Besides that, unless this is resolved tonight you won't be able to stay here. You might have to move to Coney."_

_ "That will never happen."_

_ "Why?" There was a pause, then seemingly a realization. "You still haven't told her?" Told me what? Christine wondered._

_ "Absolutely not," Erik said. "I told her I was working odd jobs around the island. It's more or less true."_

_ "If you can call sitting in a cage and advertising a deformity an odd job," Nadir muttered. "I still don't think you had to work in a freak show." Christine's eyes widened in disbelief. Why hadn't he told her?_

_ "Be quiet," Erik said._

_ "I'm not letting this go—"_

_ "No, be quiet, someone's coming down the street!"_

_ A few moments later, a muffled voice came through the door._

_ "Don't bother," said Raoul. "You're surrounded and outnumbered."_

_ "Impossible," Nadir snarled. There were the sounds of guns being cocked and someone being wrestled to the ground. The wall shook as someone was slammed against it._

_ "Not so powerful by yourself, eh, demon?" Raoul sneered, clearly talking to Christine's husband. "Now, where is my fiancée? Where are you hiding her?"_

_ "If there was anyone she ever hid from, it's you," Erik growled, sounding out of breath—his voice was coming from directly outside the door, and Christine realized with a sickening burst of nausea that he was the one who had slammed into the wall._

_ "Where is she?" Raoul hissed._

_ "Here," Christine said, heart in throat as she opened the door. What she saw threatened another bout of nausea—Raoul standing before her husband, who was pinned to the wall by two guys with another aiming a gun at him, and Nadir up against the wall with a gun on him too. Raoul was speechless with a nameless emotion, staring at Christine, the Phantom all but forgotten._

_ "Christine," he choked, reaching out towards her. Christine recoiled. Her head was reeling in confusion—what was she doing? She didn't even know._

_ "Let them go," she said, her voice surprisingly strong. _

_ "That demon's been singing to you," Raoul growled. "He's bewitched you." He jerked his head at his two subordinates holding Erik. "Hold her." The men quickly released their hold on Erik and grabbed Christine by her arms instead. The gunman was still trained on Erik, who didn't dare move now for fear of his wife being hurt._

_ "Why, Christine?" he asked in anguish._

_ "I had to," she insisted. A wave of sickness passed through her stomach and her face visibly paled. She fell to her knees, dizzy with the sensation rolling over her in waves._

_ "What's wrong?" Raoul asked, looking accusingly at the Phantom. "What did you do to her?" he yelled. Vaguely Christine was amazed that the whole block hadn't woken up._

_ "It's nothing, Raoul, I'm just nauseous," Christine said. She automatically rubbed her belly as if that would somehow calm it down. A second too late, she realized her mistake—her ex-fiancée was staring at her with a look of realization passed over his face. His head whipped back towards Erik's; a wild glow was in his eyes as they simultaneously darkened in murderous rage._

_ "How—dare—you—" Raoul snapped. He seized Erik's throat between his hands, choking him. "How dare you lay a hand on her—" Christine instantly blocked out the horrible sounds coming out of her husband's throat and all other auditory input. She was aware that her mouth was open and that some kind of noise was probably coming out of it—perhaps a scream? She was also aware of trying to tear her arms away from her captors somehow, and rush to Erik's side. Apparently the shock of hearing her scream like that was enough to make Raoul stop, and he looked at her with incredulity and concern, but mostly with anger._

_ "Be quiet," he said in an oddly calm tone, one of his hands still on Erik's throat. When she didn't stop shrieking and clawing at her captor's arms (having not even heard Raoul), he said it again: "Be _quiet_." His grip loosened on Erik's throat, thankfully—it had been turning an unnatural shade of reddish purple and gestured for the man pointing a gun at Erik to come closer, having him press the barrel of the gun to Erik's forehead…_

Somehow that was the point where her memories stopped. She had no idea what on Earth happened after that…

"Wounds?" Christine asked tentatively.

"No one's really certain about what happened. Erik may have tried to fight back and got stabbed in the aftermath. You must have fainted at some point. Nadir, on the other hand, is fine. Quite frankly no one really knows what to do," Meg said sadly. "Raoul's being held in custody, but it might be dangerous to press charges at all since we'd have to go into Erik's background. Even if you testified that Erik never kidnapped you against your will—which would be lying—there's no way to disprove that Erik didn't drop the chandelier and kill dozens of people indirectly." A moment of tense silence ensued.

"We shouldn't be talking about this right now," Madame Giry said abruptly, surprising both the young women. Once again, Christine attempted to get up out of the bed, but Madame Giry stopped her. "You're supposed to stay here tonight too."

"Why didn't you tell us you were pregnant?" Meg said with a smile, joining in on the obvious attempt to change the subject. Still, Christine responded.

"I only found out this afternoon," Christine murmured. She looked at Antoinette with a pleading, somewhat desperate expression. "When can I go see Erik?" she asked. She wanted to shriek the question, to scream it out so the whole hospital knew exactly how powerful a singer's lungs could be, but she managed to keep her voice under control. As if on cue, a nurse walked into the room with a wheelchair.

"I'm sorry for disturbing your visit, ma'am," she said to Christine, "but I need you to come with me. Your husband, he's driving himself crazy with worry and won't sit still. The doctors are afraid his stitches will come out if he continues." The nurse did indeed look very worried and apologetic.

"I understand," Christine said immediately. She swung herself out of bed and into the wheelchair before Meg or her mother could react, and glanced at the nurse. "Take me to him." The nurse dutifully began pushing Christine as quickly as she could through the halls while the brunette wrung her hands with worry. Even before they got there, she heard Erik's voice—both through her ears and inside her head—and wanted nothing more than to calm its tortured agony. Clearly he was just as worried about her as she was about him. When they finally arrived in the room, at first Erik didn't see her. It broke Christine's heart to see him—chest covered in layers of bandages, keeping one hand protectively over his deformed face (his mask and wig were both lying on a table), with several men restraining him from getting up.

"I'm here," Christine called to him as she was wheeled to his bedside. She laid a hand on his, suddenly feeling calm for the first time all day. She let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Several of the doctors did as well—Erik had stopped thrashing, simply staring at his wife with mute relief.

"Thank goodness," he whispered, reaching out to touch her face with his fingertips now that he was no longer being restrained. Christine smiled a little shyly, ducking her head to hide her guilt.

"I'm all right," she said. Erik gripped her hand with one of his own and forced her to look at him with the other, gently lifting her chin up.

"Don't ever put yourself in danger like that again," he said softly but with an unmistakable intensity. "Promise me." Before Christine could begin to form any kind of coherent response, the doctor remaining in the room—all the others helping to restrain Erik had since exited—cleared his throat. The brunette soprano blushed and drew her face back from her husband's.

"The wounds weren't very deep, but you're going to have to stay in the hospital for a week or so," the doctor said. Erik groaned inwardly—his boss didn't know anything about it and would probably be furious. Plus, not working meant less money to spend, which he couldn't afford in Christine's condition.

"You will have to remain here tonight also, Ms. Roux," the doctor continued. "In order for us to monitor your condition." A nurse walked in and spoke in low tones to the doctor, causing him to leave. Christine and Erik were alone. For a moment they just sat together in silence. Erik gently moved his thumb over Christine's knuckles in calming circles until she worked up the courage to speak.

"Why didn't you tell me you were working in a sideshow?" she asked. "I overheard," she explained gently, "When you were talking to Nadir." Erik sighed.

"I didn't think you would approve," he said, voicing his concerns carefully.

"No, I don't," Christine admitted. "But it doesn't really matter what I think. It's your choice to stand there and be put on display. I know you wouldn't do it if you thought there was a better option."

"I'm surprised you're taking it so well," Erik said.

"Believe me, I'm furious," Christine answered, and Erik knew she was telling the truth just by looking at her eyes. "But there's not really much I can do about it. It's your choice, just like it's my choice to start singing again." For a moment, Erik was speechless.

"…you're serious?" he asked, hardly daring to believe.

"Yes. Whether it's at an opera house or an amusement park, I'm going to sing."

So often Erik had longed to hear those words over those past few months. So often he had longed to scream _let me hear you sing once more!_

Now his dreams were finally, finally going to come true. He felt better than any medicine could have ever made him.

"I have the perfect song for you," he found himself gasping out in giddy excitement, practically gushing in his happiness.

"What?" Christine asked, overjoyed to see the change in him (though somewhat cautious as well).

"_Love Never Dies_."

***wipes sweat off brow and does victory dance***

**I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER. **

**Like I don't think you readers understand how difficult this one was for me.**

**Seriously, it was trying to pull me in three different directions. I must have rewritten this thing about five different times at least. **

**As for choosing "Love Never Dies" as the first song Christine is going to sing, there is a reason! In the original musical, it was a way for the Phantom to tell her how much he still loves her and for Christine to realize how much she still loves him. However, here, it's a celebration that their love has endured so much and is still going strong.**

**Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Well, here we are! Lucky number 13! At least for me it's lucky. It's been my lucky number ever since freshman band camp when that was my number in drill. *sigh* Ah, musical geekery at its finest. Enjoy, rate, and **_**review**_**! Please? Pretty please?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Love Never Dies.**

**Note: I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed that everyone's kind of OOC in this, but hey, when you throw Erik into ordinary husband life he's bound to change!**

Chapter 13

Christine woke to the sound of an argument—one involving her husband and a nurse, judging by the voices. She opened her eyes groggily, listening.

"You're going to have to take your mask off, sir," the nurse said impatiently. "I need to make sure that the wounds are clean." Christine sat up sharply (and instantly wished she hadn't as her vision clouded with lightheadedness).

"You got cut there?" she asked with wide eyes. Her husband glared at the nurse and Christine sighed in frustration—clearly he hadn't wanted her to know.

"Yes," he muttered reluctantly. Christine didn't bother asking how—she didn't want to know.

"Tell me what to do," she instructed the nurse. When the woman hesitated, she said, "I promise he'll get the treatment he needs." Finally, the nurse handed her a wet cloth and stormed out of the room as professionally as she could and slammed the door. Christine couldn't help but chuckle a little, while Erik somehow looked simultaneously triumphant and indignant.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Erik apologized. Obligingly, he took off his mask now that the door was closed.

"It's fine," Christine said. She carefully swung herself out of her own bed and sat next to him with the cloth in her hand. She winced when she saw the wounds—rough slashes across the more delicate skin of Erik's deformed side. It must have happened during the period shadowed by her mysterious memory block. She carefully dabbed at the cuts, and he flinched. "I'm sorry," Christine instantly apologized.

"Don't," Erik said quickly. "I'm still amazed you can look at me in broad daylight."

"We are married, silly," Christine laughed. "You look more beautiful than ever. My knight in shining armor." Erik sat silently, clearly stunned that she could so casually dismiss his hideous face. He closed his eyes while she carefully cleaned the cuts.

"I love you, my angel," he said. Christine smiled.

"I love you too," she replied, as she always did. He never got tired of hearing it, though. "So tell me about this song you wrote. I don't recall seeing it on the kitchen table."

"No, I haven't written it down quite yet," he admitted, gleefully leaping into the conversation. "It's for a full orchestra and a soprano soloist—you, of course. It's going to be the most beautiful song America has heard to date…" Unfortunately, his excitement was cut short by a knock at the door. A nurse (the same one who had stormed out—evidently there was only one French-speaking nurse in the hospital) opened it and poked her head in as Erik hastily replaced his mask.

"You have a visitor, Monsieur Roux," she said. "He says he's your employer. A Mr. Z, he says."

"Do you want me to leave?" Christine asked uncertainly.

"No, it's all right, Christine," Erik reassured her. "Send him in," he said to the nurse. The man who walked in was somewhat comical looking—a ratty Fedora-style hat, a trench coat draped across his broad shoulders, and a cigar clamped between his teeth. He was shorter than even Christine, which made him a little more than a head shorter than Erik. He was dressed in a suit and tie, but they didn't seem very high quality. The pot belly he was sporting served to contribute to the idea of his short stockiness.

"Cornelius," Erik greeted him. Christine stifled a laugh; the name seemed too big and pompous for the man standing in front of her. "I don't mean to be rude," Erik continued, "but I would appreciate you not smoking around my wife. I fear it would be detrimental to her condition." At the words "my wife", Mr. Z's eyes bugged out of his head.

"She's…your wife?" he said, gawking. Clearly, Christine realized ruefully, he thought she was too beautiful for Erik.

"Yes," Christine said, smiling, reaching to grasp Erik's hand. The message was clear: _I'm here of my own accord._ Clearing his throat and reddening slightly, the man took his hat off and extinguished his cigar, throwing it in a wastebasket. "And Erik, darling, I'm only pregnant—" here, Christine could have sworn that Mr. Z's gag reflex was triggered—"and you're the one who got stabbed. Don't you think it might be detrimental to you more than me?"

"Sound logic except for the fact that it's impossible, my dear," Erik countered with a raised eyebrow. He then turned his attention to Mr. Z. "The doctor told me I had to rest for a week. No work." Mr. Z cursed. "However," Erik added, "if I can convince him that the work won't be strenuous, I can come back. Also, I am suddenly in need of a new residence, and would like to take you up on the offer you made earlier in the year for residing in the apartment complex provided for most of your other employees."

"Suit yourself," Mr. Z said, "Although your rent will be docked out of your pay."

"Fine," Erik said dismissively. "It'll be less than the apartment we had been paying for anyway."

"Fine. And if you can't convince that doctor, I'm not going to pay you. Sorry, but if you're not working, I can't waste money on charity." Erik looked like he was about to argue, but Christine intervened.

"It doesn't matter, Erik—your music will pay for everything in time," she said reassuringly.

"_Our_ music," he corrected. "You are the one who will be singing it, my angel."

Mr. Z, for his part, continued to stare at their lighthearted, flirtatious banter looking utterly baffled.

"So I might be expecting you, and I might not?" he said in an awkward sum-up of the whole situation.

"Yes," Erik said, looking up almost casually from studying Christine's belly, which he could have sworn was larger now that he knew she was pregnant. "That was the reason for your visit, was it not?"

"Uh…yeah," Mr. Z said, flustered.

"Erik, you really should be resting," Christine scolded lightly. She turned to his employer. "Allow me to show you out—Erik, I can afford to be up for a minute." She stood, dusting off her dress, which thankfully was the same one she had been dressed in the day before and not a provocative nightgown. She stood and opened the door and gestured for Mr. Z to leave, shutting the door behind her.

"I really am thankful for you employing my husband, though I admit I dislike the line of work you're in," she said, causing him to look at her questioningly.

"Ma'am, you have seen, well, his _face_, haven't you?" he asked, seeming somewhat skeptical. Christine laughed a real laugh from deep in her belly, smiling like she had a secret (which, of course, she did).

"Far more times than you probably have, Mr. Z," she said, still with an amused glint in her eye. "Believe me; I was frightened at first too. But there are some things in life that go far beyond anything physical." With that, she returned to the room, leaving Mr. Z with his mouth hanging wide open.

For the rest of the day he pondered on the paradox of such a beautiful woman falling in love with such a hideous beast.

* * *

**Fluff! I love fluff. I figured our favorite OTP had had enough hurt for now, so this one became fluffy. Erik and Christine are such an epic team. This chapter was so much fun to write *cough* unlike the last one *cough* and I pretty much had a smile on my face the whole time.**

**Review, please!**


	14. Christmas Special

**Wow! Within an HOUR, I got five votes back, all of them wholeheartedly saying YES! And within the next few hours I received even more reviews, with not a single one saying no. I LOVE YOU ALL! So, here it is: our LND Christmas oneshot that's not technically part of this story, but I'm posting it here anyway for all the people who wanted it. So enjoy and Merry Christmas (even though it's not actually Christmas anymore)!**

_Christmas Morning_

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!" Meg shrieked happily, bouncing on the edge of Christine's and Erik's bed. Erik groaned and rolled over, checking his pocket watch.

"Meg, it's _six o clock in the morning_," he growled in his best Phantom voice. She didn't heed the warning in the slightest, but instead shook her best friend's shoulder, reaching over Christine's bulging stomach which poked out over the edge of the bed.

"Wake up, Christine," she said in a singsong voice. "Your husband needs to get into the Christmas spirit!" Christine put a hand over her eyes.

"This is not happening," she muttered. "I did not just get woken up by an overexcited blonde just to be told that it's Christmas."

"_Just_ to be told that it's Christmas?" Meg exclaimed. "It's our first in America! It's the best holiday of the year! It's only the twenty-first one you've ever experienced! It's _Christmas_!" Two moans of complaint rose up to meet her. "Oh, come on, you two. Get up! Mother's got Nadir helping in the kitchen—"

"_What?_" Christine and Erik exclaimed simultaneously, opening their eyes and sitting up (not without difficulty on Christine's part). Meg, for her part, grinned.

"He's not _that_ bad of a cook—" she began, purposely baiting them.

"Of course, unless you're like me and prefer not to be poisoned by breakfast," Erik said sarcastically.

"He's not in _our_ kitchen, is he?" Christine asked in alarm. Meg's smile only grew wider. Instantly, Christine started getting up. Erik, however, stayed put. Christine looked at him, indicating with her head that he should get up.

"I'm _not_ getting up until _she_ leaves," he said pointedly. Christine felt a blush creep up her neck and face when she remembered that her husband generally slept with only the bare minimum of clothing, if anything. Meg smirked at the look on Christine's face, then flounced out of the room and closed the door. Looking thunderously annoyed, Erik swung out of bed and began pulling on various articles of clothing until he was fully dressed, his mask and wig included. When he looked up after pulling his shirt on, Christine was standing in front of him with a dress in hand, looking sheepish.

"Help me get dressed?" she asked, blushing slightly. Erik readily obliged—he knew it would be difficult for her to stretch her dress over her belly, even though it was a maternity dress. He stood behind her and pulled it up as she stepped into it, easing the dress over her delicate frame.

"This is embarrassing," she said with a laugh. "I can't see my own feet and I need help getting dressed."

"Everyone needs help every once in a while," Erik said gently, securing the back. He kissed his wife's temple. Suddenly he heard a sharp intake of breath. "What is it?" he asked in alarm.

"Nothing; the baby moved, that's all," Christine said a little breathlessly. She turned and looked at him shyly, pressing his hand to her abdomen. Even through the fabric of the dress, Erik could feel the movements inside. His heart nervously skipped a beat. A clatter of something or other coming from the direction of the kitchen snapped them both out of their state of mind.

"Let's go stop Nadir from destroying the apartment, shall we?" Erik said, a little too nervously for the actual comment. He put an arm around Christine's waist and they walked out.

Once in the kitchen, they were greeted with an absolute chaos. Flour was spread across every surface, bowls and utensils were stacked haphazardly, and there was a smell in the air as though something had burned. Christine blinked, praying with all her might that this was just a horrible, horrible dream. Erik voiced her concerns, speaking to Antoinette and Nadir, who were arguing with each other about something and hadn't noticed them.

"Please tell me this is a dream and that you both are _not_ using my kitchen without permission," he said. The other two adults turned around, looking defensive.

"Don't look at me," Antoinette growled, pointing at Nadir. "I was baking some cookies and then this buffoon came in here and tried to teach me how to cook."

"That is _not_ what happened," Nadir argued. "True, she was here first, but—"

"That's not the point," Christine interrupted. "_What_ are you all doing in _my_ kitchen?"

"Baking," Madame Giry explained patiently.

"Why can't you use your own kitchen?"

"Yours is much better," Antoinette said matter-of-factly. Feeling overwhelmed, Christine sat down in a chair.

"Perhaps you could help Meg set up the tree while we…er…clean up?" Nadir suggested sheepishly. Christine got up and moved to the living room while Erik declined, and started cleaning.

"You two, get out of my kitchen," he growled. Neither of the other two adults dared cross him, and exited into the living room as well, where Christine and Meg were stringing cheap tinsel they had bought around the tiny tree Meg had insisted on buying. After a few minutes, they stepped back and observed their handiwork, a silvery star made of tin sitting atop the whole thing.

"Not bad for a bunch of not-so-well-paid performers with a budget," Meg concluded happily.

"I just don't understand why it has to be done so early," Christine said pointedly, stifling a yawn behind her hand.

"It's so that we can spend as much time with each other as possible today!" Meg said. "Considering that I have to be ready for three performances in—" she checked the clock on the wall—"five hours, and won't be back until late."

"Really?" Christine asked, surprised.

"There are always lots of productions that put on Christmas performances, Christine; you know that."

"You should have told me and Erik so we could come see you." Meg shook her head.

"No, you two should spend some time alone," she said, giving Christine a small wink. Despite being seven months pregnant, Christine blushed. "And now," Meg announced, raising her voice, "We eat."

"Eat what? Nadir's poison?" Erik asked, sticking his head out from the kitchen.

"Very funny," Nadir grumbled. "But I actually did go out and get breakfast this morning after I got off my night shift."

"As long as it's none of your cooking," Antoinette said brusquely. Laughing, they all settled in different chairs in the living room, some pulled from the kitchen, with fresh muffins. Christine was entitled to two.

_Three and a Half Hours Later_

"Now it's time for presents!" Meg said, after they had all eaten and had simply talked and laughed together like they hadn't been able to for months. Even Antoinette had laughed every once in a while. It had been the perfect family day so far.

"Presents?" Nadir asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's tradition, my dear Persian," Erik said, lounging on the floor near Christine.

"Yes!" Meg agreed, several small presents seemingly appearing in her arms out of nowhere. She began passing them out. "This is for Christine—Erik—Mother—and here you are, Nadir."

"Meg, you really didn't have to," Christine scolded, though she took her gift graciously.

"Just open them," Meg countered. Christine unwrapped the gift to find what looked like handmade baby clothing. It was three whole little outfits—booties, hats, sweaters and more, all unbelievably adorable in their smallness. Erik received a scarf and, surprisingly, a new wig that fit perfectly. Antoinette received a locket that apparently contained pictures of Meg and her deceased husband—it was the closest she had come to crying all morning. For Nadir, there was a much-needed pair of gloves and a scarf similar to Erik's. Both scarves were handmade and had their last names embroidered into them.

"Thank you, Meg," Christine said, touched beyond words. She held the baby clothes up, examining them. They were made finely and with love; she could see that they would last for a while.

"As a matter of fact, I have gifts for you all as well," Erik said unexpectedly. Christine looked at him with surprise as he went into their bedroom and came back with several items. At Christine expression, he explained, "I hid them under the bed." He started with Meg, handing her a box. "To the only person I know who willingly gets up at ungodly hours of the morning—" moving to Madame Giry, he continued—"to the only real mother I've ever known—" and then to Nadir—"to the best friend I've ever had—" and finally, he came to his wife—"and to my beautiful songbird, I have a very special gift which I will give to you in a moment. I want to see everyone open theirs first." Christine was a little confused, but she decided to go with it.

Meg, of course, gleefully unwrapped hers in a second, shrieking with delight when she found what was inside—a new pair of carefully tailored ballet slippers and a small silver comb that would be perfect for using in performances. Madame Giry was much more restrained, though she smiled wryly when she tore the brown paper off the long, thin package—a new cane, gold-topped like her last one (she had lost her old one in the fire at the opera house.) Secretly she was sincerely touched by Erik's thoughtfulness—he knew she didn't really need a cane, and that her main reason for using one was simply out of habit and a desire to feel in control. Nadir's gift evoked laughter from all of them—a standard cookbook, which, all joking aside, was indeed something Nadir needed desperately.

"Now, for my Christine," Erik said, his voice suddenly taking on a tender shyness. He once again returned to the bedroom, holding an object to his chest and backing out so that she wouldn't see it (its odd shape made it virtually unable to be wrapped). When Erik turned around and presented the gift to her, kneeling by where she was sitting, Christine couldn't help letting out a gasp, clapping her hands over her mouth.

"I thought it had burned in the opera house…" she managed to choke out through her emotions.

In Erik's hands was her father's violin.

The strings had been replaced, the wood lovingly polished until it gleamed. It was, in Christine's eyes, a miracle. Tears formed in her eyes as she timidly lifted the instrument from Erik's hands, the wood familiar and comforting. In the opera house, whenever she thought she wouldn't be able to go on, or when she was simply missing her father, the violin gave her comfort. She thought it had been lost, but…evidently not.

Christine looked up at Erik, her gratitude plain on her face. She pulled her Phantom into an embrace, not saying a word.

Meg pointedly cleared her throat in a teasing manner, then said, "Well, I've got to be going now."

"As do I," Antoinette hastily added. Nadir just grunted in agreement, clearly not wanting to stick around and be a third wheel. Erik nodded goodbyes at them all as they gathered their belongings and left. As soon as the door closed, his gaze returned to his wife.

"I got you something too," she said softly with a little laugh, "But I'm afraid I don't have it with me."

"What?" he inquired, curious.

"A piano."

"What?" he repeated, this time with surprise.

"I know we can't fit it in the apartment now, but I did buy you one. It's reserved for you in the shop. The moment we'll be able to afford a larger space, you can go pick it up." Erik, unbelievably touched, gently kissed her in gratitude.

"Merry Christmas, my darling," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Erik," she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and claiming his lips for her own.

It was Erik's first real Christmas, and he felt it couldn't have gone any better.

**Well, I was going to make it a little longer, but that was WAY too perfect of an ending. Hope you all enjoyed it and happy holidays!**


	15. Chapter 14

**I'm back! I am so sorry for the delay, but I needed to recharge by working on other stories (for those of you who might even be slightly interested, I've been working on stories for **_**Pokémon**_** [I REGRET NOTHING], **_**Percy Jackson and the Olympians**_** [it probably won't get uploaded], **_**Harry Potter **_**[it's a DracoXAstoria fic], **_**Alice in Wonderland 2010**_** [I hardcore ship Alice and the Hatter], and **_**Ib**_** [which for those of you who don't know is a video game, and for those who do know, yes, it's a GarryXIb fic]). Even though I didn't upload anything, I do feel refreshed by working on different stuff. So here it is, the next installment of **_**I'll Change For You**_**! Enjoy, rate, and review! **

**Note: The italics, as usual, indicate a flashback.**

Chapter 14

Erik sighed when Christine left the room. Clearly she had blocked out from her memory the traumatizing experiences of how he had gotten hurt, but he could remember it like it had just happened…

_His Christine had been shrieking, crying out for him as he choked under the viscount's hands. Erik much preferred her singing voice. The viscount, clearly gone insane, had told her to be quiet. When she didn't stop, clearly distraught, the viscount told the gunmen to aim at Erik. Once the Phantom was secure, Raoul took a step towards Christine. The madness was gleaming in his eyes, and Erik saw that the pretty-boy was reaching towards a knife on his belt._

_Guns be damned._

_Erik launched himself at the viscount faster than the gunmen could react, and by the time they could Erik and Raoul were wrestling. Raoul was blindly wielding his knife, managing to stab Erik a few times in his chest, causing the Phantom to go limp. Viciously, Raoul proceeded to rip the mask off his fallen opponent and took his knife to Erik's face. Erik must have been screaming himself, though like Christine he was blocking out all auditory input he could. _

_Then something happened._

_Perhaps they hadn't known that they were being employed by a madman or perhaps they felt that they were in the wrong, but clearly Raoul's men had had enough. They pulled him off of Erik, dragging him kicking and screaming down the street, fleeing for their own sakes. Nadir, as soon as he was free, ran to find help. Meg and Madame Giry ran out of the apartment building, wielding inadequate medical supplies and the like. Christine, meanwhile, had thrown herself to Erik's side and fainted upon seeing his injuries._

He relived all this in a flash when Christine came back into the room and once again sat next to him, looking determined as she once again picked up the damp cloth.

"Off," she ordered, but with a smile that melted any kind of resistance Erik had built up. For a while she worked in silence until she suddenly gasped and dropped the cloth.

"What is it?" Erik asked, alarmed.

"Nothing, just the baby," she said shakily. Erik noticed that her left hand was cradling her belly.

"What does it feel like?" he asked curiously. Christine looked up at him, a mixture of wonder and happiness upon her face.

"It's like…a pianissimo fluttering," she attempted to explain. "Or like the sound of somebody…whispering…except it's a physical sensation and a thousand times softer." She sighed at what she felt was an inadequate explanation.

"So it doesn't feel like there's a person there?" he asked hesitantly. Christine stopped dabbing at the cuts, and carefully replaced Erik's wig, securing his mask lovingly as she thought about her answer.

"Definitely not," she said, biting her lip in thought. "But I have no doubt that it will, eventually." The brunette's brown curls framed her face as she glanced down at her body, at the bump which was just barely noticeable, and only because she knew it was there. Erik wrapped his arms around her waist and began moving his face towards her belly, but stopped, glancing up at her.

"May I?" he asked timidly.

"Not with your wounded side," she said gently, moving closer to him. Needing no further permission, Erik tentatively pushed his ear up against Christine's baby bump. At first he could only hear the normal swishes and gurgles one would expect from a human body, along with Christine's faint heartbeat. But beyond all that, while he certainly couldn't feel or hear the butterfly sensation his wife described, Erik _sensed_ something. It was like a single note inside his mind, high-pitched and innocent. His breath caught. When he lifted his head up, Christine had a knowing look in her eyes.

"You heard it too?" she asked. Erik nodded in confusion. He had never experienced anything like it.

"It's something like when I hear you in my mind, actually," Christine explained, looking at her abdomen, then looking at Erik with shining eyes. "Oh, Erik, I just know the baby's going to be a composer like you."

"Or a singer like you," Erik suggested. To his surprise, Christine shook her head.

"No, he'll be a composer," she insisted.

"He?" Erik teased, twirling a finger through a lock of her hair. "We won't know for quite a while, darling."

"I know, but I don't want to keep calling the baby 'it'."

"What if it—sorry, _he_—turns out to be a girl?"

"Then he turns out to be a girl. For now I'm going to say he's a boy." Erik smiled at her somewhat childish remarks, and pulled her in for a kiss. After a while, the kiss became deeper and more passionate, and reluctantly Christine pulled away, knowing it wasn't the time or place in the hospital while Erik was injured. Erik sighed as well. It was going to be a long week.

* * *

**So this one turned out fluffy and short, but I can reluctantly promise that Raoul will reappear next chapter in the present time. I wish he wouldn't, but alas, the plot needs to go on…! Please review!**


	16. Chapter 15

**I could give you so many excuses for this unbelievably long absence…like starting the second semester and I really have to study for Geometry because I can't understand math, and Wind Symphony, and pit orchestra, and jazz band, and working on schoolwork, and having my inspiration seemingly thrown out the window for this story…but I'm just going to grovel and apologize. PLEASE I'M ONLY A HUMBLE WRITER, SPARE ME! *cowers behind homemade fort* Enjoy, rate, and review! Please don't punish me by not reviewing—that's all I ask of you. See what I did there? ;D**

**Note: Feel free, as always, to criticize certain characters. *cough* RAOUL *cough***

**I also took out the author's notes from the story so far.**

Chapter 15

"You do realize that if you kill him within the confines of this prison that I'm going to have to arrest you," Nadir said dryly.

"I'm not going to kill him," Erik said, adjusting his mask and walking briskly towards his destination. "That would be far too merciful."

"I do hate to disappoint you, but your custom torture chamber is back in the opera house," Nadir said. "Unless you want the one in Persia, but I don't think that'll be available at a moment's notice."

"I don't need it," Erik said coldly.

"It's not like I'm going to let you inside the cell."

"Psychological manipulation has always been the best part, anyway." They stopped in front of the door of the room where Raoul was being held alone because of his mental state. "I would prefer it if you stayed outside, Nadir."

"Fine, but don't try anything drastic."

"I'm the Phantom, Nadir." The Persian wasn't sure if that was meant to be an agreement or a refusal. Sighing, he leaned against the wall and listened after Erik entered the room.

Erik, meanwhile, was staring down the viscount with those ever-changing eyes of his, while the viscount himself stared at him with the eyes of a total madman. The guard standing watch in the room graciously left at Erik's request, since it was clear Raoul was going nowhere and Nadir had informed him earlier of the arrangement.

"_You_," he half-hissed, half-snarled.

"Careful, Viscount," Erik sneered, "Wouldn't want to lose that fine reputation of yours, would we?"

"Where is she, you hell-spawned demon?" Raoul roared, slamming himself up against the bars of his cell.

"Somewhere you'll never be able to get to her," Erik drawled cruelly, relishing the effect the words were having on the deranged viscount. Something inside him was stirring, a side of him he had kept long locked up—the Phantom. The Phantom had returned and Erik was fully welcoming him, feeling him rise up from inside his soul. He flexed his fingertips, noting the power that felt like it was surging through his veins as a long-forgotten friend. Erik felt like chuckling—he had, on some level, quite missed this in his newfound domestic existence. At the same time, towards the back of his thoughts, there was a little pang of guilt and a trace of fear for regressing to this state, for it had been this part of him that caused so much grief—but it was quickly drowned out by the influence of the Phantom.

"I found her before; I escaped your wretched traps in the Opera and she came with _me_—"

"Only because a friend of mine was there to lead you through them," Erik casually dismissed. "Face it, Viscount, you're no match for me and you never will be."

"I'll kill you," Raoul roared, stretching his hands out in a vain attempt to reach Erik's throat. "I'll kill you!"

"Funny, I was under the impression you weren't in a position to make threats," Erik said. "Now, Viscount, I will make things quite clear to you. You will not be able to press charges against me—they will think you are insane and believe me when I say that I will go to great lengths to keep it that way. Aside from that, my _requests_ are as follows—if you get out of here anytime soon, which is not at all likely, you will not attempt to approach Christine. You will not attempt to approach the Girys either. You will stay out of our business and out of our lives. Otherwise, I will kill you."

Internally Erik felt quite smug—while he had absolutely no intention of killing the viscount unless he directly threatened Christine again, the psychological effects of threatening being killed on Raoul were clear. That was more than satisfactory—he would live and suffer in madness. But he was the Phantom—he would not stop there. No, he had a few more psychological tortures up his sleeve. Intentionally, he turned to leave, and then dramatically raised his hand as though he had forgotten something.

"Ah…Viscount. Why is it you want to kill me, again?"

"You know why!" Raoul screamed, veins popping in his neck as his face turned an ugly red color. "You—took—my—fiancée!" Each word was punctuated by Raoul slamming himself against the bars. They did not give way.

"Quite odd…most people would say she _left_ you, for _beating_ her and not cherishing her like the miracle she is. Do you want to know _precisely_ what happened that night? She came to find me, seeking refuge from your fists in _my_ arms…I assume you remember what her lips feel like, and the creamy smoothness of her skin…she always smells like roses…ah, well. I suppose _you_ wouldn't know." By now, Raoul was practically foaming at the mouth, with strangled, choking screams coming from his throat. "What's that, Viscount? I can't quite understand you," Erik said, laughing menacingly. Then he turned and went from the room, laughing still.

He could not have asked for a more perfect revenge.

"How did it go?" Nadir asked casually after Erik exited, listening idly to the incoherent screams of the viscount.

"Completely unhinged," Erik said with a satisfactory smile. "No one will believe a single word he says now."

"And you feel no guilt about this whatsoever?" Nadir asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Guilt? This was my reward. I have been waiting for this." Erik adjusted his hat so his mask would be less visible as he walked toward the exit.

* * *

…**You all won't punish me for the wait with a lack of reviews, would you? I know it's been forever…and this is a really short chapter…but you won't hold that against me…will you? I mean, at least I updated, right? I'll give you cookies! Anything you want! Please? Please just review?**


	17. Chapter 16

**For the record, I took out all the unnecessary author's notes that I've had in previously. Also, I'm trying really hard to get ideas for this story, but I can't rush a lot of the main events since I don't want to do a ton of jumping around in the timeline. I just need to get all the ideas in my head sorted and then I promise I'll update more regularly. All those who reviewed the last chapter—you get cookies! Enjoy, rate, and review!**

Chapter 16

It was Saturday, and Christine shifted tiredly, putting an arm over her eyes in a vain attempt to block out the light. She lifted it away and opened her eyes in defeat, wincing a little at the light of day forcing her awake. Erik was already dressed, just securing his mask and wig when Christine looked.

"When did you get in?" she asked sleepily. Erik spun around upon seeing she was up.

"Around eleven-o-clock. Did I wake you?" he asked worriedly.

"No, the light did," Christine said ruefully, turning away.

"I can draw the curtains if you want to sleep more," Erik suggested.

"That would be wonderful," Christine admitted, snuggling deeper into the covers as Erik complied with her requests. She felt a soft kiss on her cheek and involuntarily smiled. A thought made her eyes open slightly and she glanced at her husband. "Are you going to work?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Erik replied. "Saturdays are always busy." Christine sighed. "It's necessary, Christine," he said sharply.

"No, it's not," she argued, sitting up, sleep suddenly forgotten. "You really could be working odd jobs, or _something_—"

"This is far more lucrative and far less tiring," Erik said coldly.

"And far more _stupid_," Christine spat. Instantly Erik's demeanor changed and Christine shrank back, suddenly uncertain of how he would react.

"Don't you _dare_ pretend to know what it's like, and reduce the suffering of my childhood to _stupidity_," he snarled at her, shaking with rage. "_How dare you_!" he shouted, towering over her. Christine gasped in fright, lowering her eyes and curling herself up to protect herself. She started violently trembling.

"I'm sorry! Please…please don't hit me," she whispered. Erik's eyes widened at her fear, cursing himself—of course his anger would remind her of the viscount. He made a visible effort to relax himself, then slowly moved to sit next to her. Guilt erupted in him when she curled up tighter and shut her eyes as though awaiting inevitable blows.

"Sweetheart, look at me." She didn't move. "Christine, _please look at me_," Erik pleaded. Finally she looked up, eyes wary and fearful, like a deer's. "I will never hurt you, my angel," he promised. "I will never strike you as that boy did. _Never_, Christine."

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"No, I'm sorry," Erik mumbled, self-loathing growing inside him. "I had no right to yell at you like that in your condition." To his surprise, she reached out a trembling hand and grasped Erik's.

"I shouldn't have been so careless with my words," she stated. Looking into her eyes, Erik saw that she meant what she said, but the fear was still present.

"Christine…I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said hesitantly.

"I don't want to be," she whispered. "I know I _shouldn't_ be."

"It's a perfectly rational response," Erik argued. "I have killed people, Christine."

"But I know for a fact you would never hurt me," Christine replied fervently. Uncurling herself, she hesitantly grabbed Erik's other hand, and then upon apparent reconsideration pulled him into an embrace, burying her head into his neck. "It's just so unfair," she murmured. "You should be sharing your talent with the world."

"All in good time, my love," Erik replied softly. "We just have to be patient."

"We may not have that much time, you know," Christine reminded him. "I might have to start singing again just to keep us living decently."

"Don't tempt me," Erik joked into her hair. Christine laughed, and relief crashed over him. Pulling back, he brought his lips to hers and then got up reluctantly. "I'll be back later for dinner," he promised.

"All right," Christine said. "I love you, my angel."

"I love you too, Christine."

* * *

**Aaaaaaaand suddenly we're out of the honeymoon stage, folks! At least they fought and made up within the same chapter, right? Although it really is very short...oh well. Review!**


	18. Chapter 17

**Okay, so, umm…hi. I know it's been a while. Welcome to all newcomers, and welcome back to those who waited for me so diligently! You cannot know how much it means to me for you to wait and send the encouraging reviews—I never thought this story was that good, but some of you clearly adore it and it's astounding to me. THANK YOU. I know I've been on hiatus far longer than I originally scheduled…my sincere and humble apologies. I've kind of been on a writing break and only recently started to tentatively get some stuff out again. However! I now have most of the story planned out, at least mentally. So hopefully you can look forward to updates once a week or so!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, Love Never Dies, the book Phantom, or anything Phantom-related. I do have an original cassette recording of PotO with Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman, but that doesn't give me the rights.**

Chapter 17

Raoul paced in his cell. He always paced in his cell.

"Watch the madman run, eh, monsieur?" he asked the guard in French, who either didn't understand or chose to ignore him. He chuckled, continuing his relentless pace. Anyone could sense the tension contained inside his frame, and virtually everyone who even briefly came in contact with the Viscount avoided it for fear of getting hurt. Raoul growled and kept pacing.

His two companions were nowhere to be found, and according to that Persian they had gone back to France. The Viscount was incredibly enraged at this clear display of cowardice and mutiny, but it was no matter—he would continue his revenge himself. After all, he wasn't about to give up so easily—he had suffered through the Phantom's mazes and his lair and that infernal mirror trap for Christine, and he had given her _everything_ and he would get her back because she was his fiancée and he gave her a ring while she gave him a promise and his brother had drilled it into him since childhood not to go back on a promise.

* * *

"_Grazi_," Erik said with a smile to an Italian vendor and handing him some money. He and Christine walked away, with Erik carrying the bundles of food that would serve as dinner.

"It's lucky for us you speak fluent Italian," Christine said, her chocolate curls bouncing as she walked with a smile on her face.

"There's no such thing as luck," Erik replied briskly, keeping a fast pace and the tiniest hint of a smile. "I happened to live in Italy for a while in my youth."

"Oh?" Christine asked with a raised eyebrow. "What were you doing in Italy?" Erik's face closed up in the specific way it did when something about his past came up. He didn't answer, and Christine closed her mouth in quiet though disappointed acceptance. They walked the rest of the way home in silence.

They were now living in the Coney Island staff apartments, which were actually relatively nice if a bit small. Christine and Erik lived next to Squelch and Gangle, and Miss Fleck lived across the hall. Christine regularly gave her singing lessons and Erik often pitched in, even if it was just through the door. Several other members of Erik's show lived in the same hallway of the building—a pair of extremely handsome male conjoined twins named James and Timothy, who loved seeing Christine and Fleck because they were women who accepted their condition (a rare occurrence for them, apparently). Other performers included Jenny, a jolly and plump bearded lady, Lynn, a fiery red-haired contortionist, Marcus, a fire-breather, and his best friend Julius, who was a snake charmer and positively coated with tattoos. Marcus and Julius both adored Meg and competed for her attention whenever the Girys visited, which was often.

"Hi, Jenny," Christine called through the open door, where the bearded lady was cooking something.

"Well, hello, Christine!" Jenny laughed (she was always laughing). "Did you want something to eat?" Jenny was always trying to coax Christine into eating something extra, not only because she was "too thin" but also because she was pregnant.

Marcus and Julius were also there—Jenny had practically raised the two boys since they had come to work in the show as teenagers. The two dark-skinned boys (Christine had to stop thinking of them as boys; they were both around her age. She supposed she just thought of them as boys since she was married) smiled at her and waved hello. Giving Christine an amused glance, Erik went on ahead with the groceries as she stopped to chat.

"No thanks," Christine replied, leaning against the doorway. "We just got ingredients for dinner." Jenny laughed again, shaking her head.

"You two are the only couple I know where the husband does the cooking," she commented, stirring something on her own stove.

"Well, it's not like we follow the standards of society anyway," Christine pointed out. "Hi, Marcus, Julius," Christine greeted. They were lounging around Jenny's apartment (honestly, they practically lived there).

"Hey, Curls," Marcus grinned. "When's your friend coming by next?"

"Even if she knew, you two would be the last to know," Jenny scolded. Christine smiled despite herself. Julius wiggled his eyebrows at Christine and she laughed.

"I think she'll be around sometime this weekend," she said. "I'll see you later."

"Eat something!" Jenny called as Christine went down the hallway.

Christine just laughed again and continued toward her own apartment. When she got there, Erik was already in the middle of preparing their meal.

"What are we even eating?" she asked upon entering, hanging up her coat and going to the kitchen.

"Italian food," Erik said evasively, not taking his eyes from the food.

"Whatever you say," Christine said with sparkling eyes. Erik stirred something and put the lid on the pot of whatever-it-was, muttering a satisfied affirmation. Erik turned to her, suddenly looking shy. Christine's eyebrows contracted slightly, concerned.

"Is something wrong…?" her voice trailed off as Erik went to the kitchen table, picking up a completed manuscript.

"I finished the aria," he said softly, but with triumphant ecstasy gleaming in his eyes. There was something both dark and childlike about his enthusiasm. "Sing it, Christine!" he all but begged. "You're warmed up and you haven't eaten for a few hours—it's a perfect time." He all but shoved the sheet music into her hands, placing his hands on either side of her face, effectively trapping her against the wall. "Please, Christine," he implored. His amber eyes were wild and dark with anticipation. Christine found herself a little breathless—the intensity of his excitement was practically contagious.

"All right," she said, somewhat weakly. She cleared her throat and tried again: "Yes." Erik released her physically, but the contagion of his voice and his intense energy had her just as trapped as before.

Christine straightened her posture and controlled her breathing. She opened the manuscript, scanned the page for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and began.

"_Who knows when love begins?_

_Who knows what makes it start?_

_One day it's simply there, _

_alive inside your heart._

_It slips into your thoughts_

_It infiltrates your soul_

_It takes you by surprise,_

_then seizes full control._

_Try to deny it _

_and try to protest:_

_but love won't let you go_

_once you've been possessed._

_Love never dies,_

_love never falters._

_Once it has spoken,_

_love is yours._

_Love never fades,_

_love never alters._

_Hearts may get broken:_

_love endures._

_Hearts may get broken:_

_love endures._

_And soon as you submit,_

_surrender flesh and bone,_

_that love takes on a life_

_much bigger than your own._

_It uses you at whim,_

_and drives you to despair,_

_and forces you to feel_

_more joy than you can bear._

_Love gives you pleasure_

_and love brings you pain._

_And yet, when both are gone,_

_love will still remain._

_Once it has spoken,_

_love is yours._

_Love never dies,_

_love never alters._

_Hearts may get broken:_

_love endures._

_Hearts may get broken…_

_Love never dies!_

_Love will continue!_

_Love keeps on beating _

_when you're gone!_

_Life may be fleeting,_

_love lives on!_

_Life may be fleeting…_

_love lives on…"_

Christine finished, but the sensations created by the singing would not ebb. She would be lying if she said that she did not feel physical desire for Erik after such a beautiful song, knowing he had made it especially for her. The rhythm of the song was still flowing through her, and she stared at Erik with her mouth slightly open. Erik, meanwhile, was staring at her with an even greater intensity than previously. Wordlessly, the two embraced, trembling and not needing to say a single word.

The door burst open, startling the duo, and all of their neighbors crowded around it in wonderment (when they made their livings off of being ogled at, many of them chose to disregard personal boundaries). Fleck was at the front with her mouth hanging open and her dark eyes popping out of her head.

"I never knew anyone could sing like that in my life," she managed to say, looking at Christine in awe. Everyone else murmured in agreement.

"I had a great teacher," Christine murmured, a faint blush tinting her cheeks and looking up at Erik.

"Be careful, Christine, or one of the managers will hear you and try to get you as an act!" Julius joked, but his expression was a little too serious. "I mean…wow."

In the kitchen, the pot started to rattle, startling everyone out of their reverie. Erik practically ran to the kitchen. The crowd started to disperse, and Christine quietly shut the door.

* * *

**So…any good? Let me know if you spot any mistakes, please. And review!**


End file.
